


Unbreakable

by Kate_Shepard, potionsmaster



Series: Fanficcing With Friends [2]
Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Basic Training, Biotics, Boot Camp, Bullheaded Vanguard, Country Music, Drugs, F/M, Fucking Adept, Headbutting is a Renegade Interrupt, I Will Break You, Like Sees Like, M/M, N School, Sex, The Villa, Violence, battle buddies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-02-10 10:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 85,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12909987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Shepard/pseuds/Kate_Shepard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/potionsmaster/pseuds/potionsmaster
Summary: N School at Vila Militar in Rio de Janeiro, affectionately nicknamed ‘the Villa’ by the participants, is infamous for having the most grueling training courses in order to produce the most versatile and hardened soldiers the Systems Alliance can find.  Failure rate is high.  The soldiers who manage to make it past N1 usually are the ones who can go all the way and reach the coveted N7.Two soldiers from drastically different backgrounds are thrown together and forced to cooperate by necessity, for it’s survival of the fittest only to die another day.  They must band together or break down on their own.What they never expected was to make a lifelong connection along the way.





	1. Welcome to the Suck

**Author's Note:**

> K_S A/N (1/5/19): This story is on indefinite hiatus while I deal with some health issues that have cropped up and Potions is going through a divorce. We may come back to it, but no guarantees. If you'd like to subscribe in case we're able to start writing again in the future, feel free. This follows with the history of the Seeing Red series, but due to circumstances, isn't Red's actual canon unless completed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step..."_ ~Lao Tzu

**__ **

 

Rating: E for sex, drugs, rock n’ roll, and country.  Otherwise known as ‘Violence out the wazoo’ and actual country.  (Country needs a warning label.)  Heed the warnings and tags, kiddies.  It ain’t pretty.

 

**Chapter 1:** _Welcome to the Suck_

 

~*~*~*~

 

_Rio de Janeiro, 2176_

After the cool, wet, overcast Vancouver spring, Rio’s fall was warm, bright, and humid. Red loved it immediately. Driving the motorcycle through the massive city was like taking a trip back in time. All of Brazil had been like that, actually, but she’d expected the city to be more modern. It wasn’t until she reached the base that she felt like she’d returned to her own time period.

She checked in at the gate and got directions to the training facility. The shuttle from the spaceport was just landing as she wheeled her bike in and parked it. Its doors opened, disgorging a clean-cut group of some of the recruits who would be her classmates for the next month and a half; among them a short, lithe brunette who prowled rather than walked beside a tall blonde man who somehow managed to bear a slight resemblance to her despite being her near-opposite; a sour-faced Asian male who held himself apart from the others; a tall, broad-shouldered brunette male with hair was just this side of regs and a nose just barely left of center; a confident, curvy brunette; a tall, willowy blonde woman who looked like she might cry; and a pair of men who could almost be twins but for the difference in their build, the expressions on their faces, and the scar across the taller one’s hairline. He veered away from the shorter one as soon as they jumped down from the shuttle and caught her eye over the others’ heads, his cool, blue gaze giving her a dismissive once-over as she removed her helmet before he turned away. She chuckled to herself. That one was the one to beat. This was going to be fun.

She tucked the keys to the bike into her shore bag and slung it over her shoulder before setting the security VI. She did have to admit that the bitch seat was damn useful for travel. Maybe she’d switch it with her own before she sold it. She didn’t need two bikes, but mileage for a 17,000 kilometer journey was ridiculous and it had been cheaper to purchase it outright. Having a place to stow her gear had been helpful...and if Kaidan came down to visit between courses, they could ride again. She fell in with the group as they melded with the larger one already there. From the looks of it, she’d been correct in her estimation. There had to be an entire battalion here. She slid between the feline woman and the shorter of the twins, though a glance at the men’s nametapes told her they weren’t related. Sheffield and...Shepard, huh? He spelled it wrong.

Two of the cadre, one a tall, burly, dark-skinned man and the other a small, leathery woman with spiky graying hair, ran up, barking orders. It was a good thing she’d donned her uniform that morning because as she’d expected, there was no lead-in. Training started the minute boots hit the ground. The massive group shifted around her, dividing into platoon-sized formations of neat lines without the need for conscious coordination.

Now she was between the twins, with the taller one to her right. They dwarfed her, making her feel even smaller than she was. Fine by her. Let people underestimate her. That just meant they wouldn’t see her coming. The instructors jogged the lines, shouting in their faces. She stared at the back of the weepy blonde’s head, counting the strands of her hair and keeping her face impassive as the female instructor screamed at the woman. Same old song and dance at each new training base.

“Are you injured, cadet?”

“Ma’am, no, ma’am,” she sniffed.

“Then what the hell’s wrong with your eyes? We haven’t even started yet!”

“Ma’am, I miss my husband, ma’am.”

“Your _husband_?!” the instructor exclaimed, scowl deepening. “If the Alliance wanted you to have a goddamn husband, they’d have issued you one. But if you miss him so bad, about face and get back in my shuttle! No? Then dry it up, Marine!”

Finally, the instructors broke off and went to the head of the formation. The woman stepped forward. “Welcome to the _suck_ , recruits. I’m Drill Instructor Torres. This is Drill Instructor Kirkland. You are here because each of you has shown that you have what it takes to _attempt_ to pass my course, but do not let that go to your heads. Eighty percent of you _will_ fail.”

_Yeah, yeah. Get it over with already._ Red let the briefing wash over her. She’d heard it half a dozen times by now. The details varied. The purpose and content didn’t. Torres walked them through completing the indoc paperwork on their omni-tools, gave them a rundown on the course--physical training followed by field training--and reviewed policies and procedures as the sun beat down on their necks.   

“Starting at _your_ left, every other person place your hand on the shoulder of the person to your right. This is your battle buddy until you or they quit my program. You will train, eat, sleep, and push with your buddy. If they are in the shower, your ass better be handing them the soap.”

Shepard’s shoulder twitched when she reached up to place a finger on it. _Big guy_ . Didn’t matter. She didn’t need to see the amp port at the base of his skull to know he was a biotic. She could feel it in the static energy buzzing around him. _Another fucking adept_. _Like Essex. Hopefully, this one can keep his side of the damn room clean_. Torres instructed them to drop their hands and she did so with a relieved sigh.

Kirkland added, “This may be training, but we are still talking ride or die, cadets. You are not N7s. N1s are not _lone wolves_. You do not go in the field alone. You function _as a team_. If you cannot show us that you are reliable at your teammate’s back in the field, _we do not want you._ It is better to hurt _yourself_ than your battle buddy. If that is not your attitude, _we do not want you_. N1 training may simply be combat simulations, but in the unlikely case that you are invited back for subsequent courses, you _will be_ placed into situations where survival will be determined by your ability to work together. If you do not show us _now_ that you will not get yourself and your buddy killed in that scenario, you _will not_ receive that invitation. Do you understand me?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” rang out from the formation.

He gave the order to follow and the group broke into a run behind him. Red had to work twice as hard to keep up with Shepard and Sheffield’s long-ass legs, but she what she lacked in stride, she made up for in speed and stamina. They’d eventually outpace her, but not for a few miles and not for long. She’d be outrunning them by the end of the course or she’d be damned.

Kirkland ran them to the med center where they submitted to physicals and immunizations, the supply building where they were issued their gear and went through the routine of pouring everything out onto the pavement for inventory before stowing it again, the chow hall where they had five minutes to wolf down every calorie they could hold, and then the PT field where they’d lose the majority of what they’d taken in. Red dropped her shore bag beside the pile with the others and chased the twins onto the field. More cadre stood waiting with water hoses in hand. Thank gods. It was fucking hot.

She was rethinking her gratitude two hours later when the sharp spray hit her full in the face again. She was already soaked from head to toe, with water squishing in her boots as she placed her hands on the wet ground and kicked her feet out before bringing them back and standing again. Fuckin’ burpees were her _thing_ , man, but fuck that water in her face. She couldn’t _breathe_. At least the twins weren’t having as easy of a time of it. More body mass to move where she was compact enough to conserve energy. One of the the twins, the one without the scar--Sheffield, she remembered--damn near jumped out of his skin every time a hose went off. _Should be interesting to see how long he lasts_.

The taller of them, Shepard, kept tossing glances over his shoulder periodically, checking on the rest of them, and biting back a little sneer before focusing back on his form.

“Eyes front, Shepard!” Torres snapped. “Unless you got something better to do than N school, I suggest you stop making goo-goo eyes at Leng!”

Shepard fought not to curl his lip, but he stopped sneaking glances. That was something, she supposed. Typical narcissistic adept. Asshole had probably been the captain of the football team, frat boy, silver fucking spoon in his mouth all his life. Clearly knew he was hot and that scar just served to make him interesting. _Just_ enough of a flaw to keep him from perfection...fucking guys, man. They could get away with that shit.

He was gonna be Essex all over again, she could feel it in the oppressive air. And, ugh, she had to share a room with him. Every fucking chick in their class was going to end up traipsing through it at some point, guaran-fucking- _teed_. Bad enough she had to share her space with him. She didn’t want a bunch of strange bitches leaving their underwear lying around and stealing her toothbrush.

Burpees gave way to flutter kicks and from there to sit ups and push ups and slaloms and...she lost track. She shouldn’t have spent so much time on the road. More than seventeen thousand kilometers on a goddamn motorcycle was exhausting even if she’d paced herself. _Too fuckin’ bad,_ she scolded herself. At least she wasn’t the only one who was spent. _Buck up, soldier._ This was just day one. No way was she pussing out already. It wasn’t the worst day she’d ever been through and certainly wouldn’t top the list in training. At least she didn’t have a trio of bullets in her back this time. Ahead of them, the feline woman and the blonde man moved in tandem, reading each other well enough to make her suspect they’d fought together more than once before.

The instructors ran them to a series of thick wooden poles lying in the damp sand on the nearby beach. Log PT. Eight people to a hundred and fifty pound log meant that as long as everyone carried their own weight, the task would merely be uncomfortable rather than torturous. Their teams were determined by who reached each log first, so Red found herself significantly shorter than most of her teammates. The twins, the sour-faced Asian guy who was the shorter twin’s buddy, the weepy blonde, and three others she hadn’t seen before made up what the instructors titled their boat crew. The instructors ran through the proper way to pick up the log and her team followed along, managing not to jostle or drop it in the process. Unfortunately, that left her and the other females reaching up for it instead of letting it rest. They wouldn’t last long like that.

Torres came around with her omni-tool open and barked, “Shepherd, you’re team lead.”

“Ma’am, which one, ma’am?” she and Shepard asked together.

“ _You_ , Lieutenant Stubby Legs.You’re the most decorated one here. You’ve got a Star of Terra. Surely, that means you know how to lead a team, right?” she replied archly.

No. No, that absolutely did not. As if reading her mind, she heard the other Shepard snort and mutter something about being a token. Fuck him. Arrogant asshole. The instructors could spew their rhetoric all day long about putting her buddy before herself. No way in hell that was ever going to happen. He wouldn’t do it for her. Probably wasn’t capable of it, spoiled son of a bitch that he was. She had no one to rely on here but herself. Which was just fine with her.

Didn’t matter now, though. Now, they had to carry this damn log and that meant she needed to redistribute people. Belatedly, she caught the nickname and snorted. She might be short, but there was nothing stubby about her. Of course, it was better than some things she’d been called.

“Ma’am,” the weepy blond, Rheinscheld, said timidly. “Wouldn’t it be better to divide us up by height rather than at random?”

Torres scowled. “You think war’s going to let you choose your team for convenience? Hell, no. You fight with the people you have. Adapt and overcome, cadet.”

“Sheffield, Shepard,” Red said, her hands planted on the log above her head. “Switch to the ends. Leng, in the center. Lower the log so the shorter ones of us can take more of the weight.”

Sheffield and Shepard moved to the ends, cradling the log so that it could rest on the others’ shoulders. That wouldn’t work for very long. Their forearms would give out. She was going to need to find a different solution. She eyed her teammates. Most were long-legged, but their torsos were roughly the same size. The instructor _did_ say to adapt and overcome. That implied that she wanted creativity. If they sat, it would bring them roughly even. Enough so that the height differences wouldn’t be _as_ extreme.

“On the count of three, everybody take a knee,” she said. “One...two...three.”

Red, Sheffield, and Shepard knelt, but the others hesitated, resulting in the rest being forced to their knees by the weight of the descending pole. Leng threw his shoulder against it and the twins fought to keep the balance steady so the heavy log didn’t slam into Rheinscheld’s head when it fell. If the stupid woman had been on the right side of it, it would have been fine. Instead, it toppled, grazing the blonde’s head before sliding through their grip to ram into Sheffield’s torso. A thick splinter slid silkily through the meat of her palm, burying sand in the wound and leaving fire in its wake. The log slammed into Sheffield’s belly and he doubled over, making a valiant effort to maintain a semblance of control over it. The end slipped from his hands and Red pushed in an attempt to keep it from landing on his feet. Shepard apparently had the same idea because it finally fell onto the sand a few feet away with a dull thud.

“ _Mother_ fucker…” she heard him mutter.  Thank gods someone else here had half a brain. Surprising as hell that it was the fucking adept. Just good instincts, maybe.

“God damn it, Leng!” she barked. “Are you incompetent or just an asshole? What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was trying to _help_ , if it wasn’t obvious,” Leng snapped. “Take the weight off to let the others adjust. But I wouldn’t expect someone like _you_ to understand that.”

“Understand what? Basic physics? You chickened out and almost broke Rheinscheld’s neck. If that’s how you help, we’re fucked. Guess we know who the weak link is,” she said dismissively. “Everybody ok? Sheffield? Rheinscheld?”

The blonde rubbed the side of her head and glared at Leng. “I’m okay. Just clipped me. I thought you meant _after_ three, not _on_ three.”

Red struggled not to roll her eyes. ‘ _On_ the count of three’ should have answered that question. _Attention to detail._ Leng wasn’t the only weak link in this fucked-up chain. And it was her job to forge them all together. Fuck Elysium and that goddamn Star. At least the instructors were at the end of the row, focusing on another boat team. Their gaffe hadn’t gone unnoticed, she was sure, but they’d gotten a pass. This time.

She stared them down as she extracted the splinter with her teeth and spat it on the ground, watching them shuffle uncomfortably. Except Shepard. His steady gaze met hers for a moment before she saw Sheffield push himself up. “Alright?”

“Yeah...yeah, I’m good,” he huffed. He twisted, trying to work out the kinks in his spine. “Let’s not do that again, though.”

“Agreed,” she said. “Try again. Left hand under the log, right hand on top. _On_ three, lift it to your shoulders. Then, we’re going to take a knee. After that, we sit and that will put us roughly even. Everybody ready? One...two...three.” The telephone pole bobbed a little as they lifted it, but stayed relatively even. Better, even if it did put her holding the damn thing above her head rather than braced on her shoulder.

“ _On_ three, go onto your _right_ knee.” She shouldn’t have to fucking baby step them through this. Wary of another mishap, they eased down together on three. Apparently, breaking it down Barney-style was what they needed. That meant micromanaging. _Fuck_. She _hated_ micromanaging. “Can we handle sitting down or do I need to walk through that, too?”

“Gonna tell us how to wipe our own asses next?”

Fucking adept. “Do I need to or can you figure that one out on your own?”

Shepard scoffed, and shifted the log slightly, adjusting it on his shoulder. “Think I’m good, cupcake. Hop to it. What’s next?”

She couldn’t contain the eyeroll this time. Asshole was going to make her miss Essex. “Sit on three.” Apparently, she _did_ need to baby step it because the goddamn pole slammed into her shoulder as the group sat, but a look forward and behind told her that they were close enough that it was no longer hanging in the air above some of their heads. She could work with this.

Torres walked over to them and lifted a brow, but didn’t object to her method. “Four count lifts. Up, center, right, down, reverse.”

The instructors’ voices rang out in perfect cadence: _one two three four one two three four_. Leng, two people in front of her, was slacking. Big fucking surprise. He was going to be trouble. Everyone else worked more or less together, not perfect, but not terrible for a first attempt, especially as spent as they already were. _Embrace the suck, Red._

Rheinscheld’s arms trembled as they lifted the pole overhead and a stocky brunette male whose name she hadn’t caught tried to wipe his forehead on his sleeve. The heat made her miss being sprayed in the face. She needed to pull them together or they were going to crash again. The weepy blonde was the absolute weakest in the team, so she started with her.

“Rheinscheld, where you from?” she asked.

“Oklahoma,” the blonde answered shakily.

“You got family waiting back home, right?” Red would have thought she’d be used to being away from them by now.

“My husband and my...my son,” she sniffed. Family was always the weak spot with women like her. She needed to suck it the hell up. Red was sure she wasn’t the only one who’d left people behind when she came to Rio.

“You, in front of her. What’s your name, where you from?” she asked the stocky brunette.

“Bradford. Terra Nova. Got parents and a sister,” he answered.

“What about you, Shepard?” she asked. He was her fucking battle buddy, unfortunately. And that meant she had to get to know him at least a little. It’d look odd if she didn’t.

“Borin’ old farm settlement out in the Attican Traverse. Cochran’s got a more interesting home; ask him.”

“C'mon, _Shepard_ ,” she huffed, lifting the log again. _One two three four._ Why was he deflecting? “I'm not asking Cochran or Sheffield or Leng. I'm asking you. Easy question. Where are you from? You got amnesia or something?"

“There is literally nothing interesting about it. Dirt. People. Crops and livestock.”

"Ooh, a colony kid, hmm? You don't look like a farmer. Which one?" He was full of shit and didn’t want to answer, but why? That was too convoluted when the others had just given a name.

“...ever hear of Dion?”

She ran through the list of colonies she was familiar with. That one wasn’t on the list. Odd. Knowing the colony worlds was part of Navy officer training. Had she missed one or was he lying? His hesitation made her think the latter. Why make up a colony? Not important now, but something to note. The extranet would have the answer. If they ever got to their barracks. _One evolution at a time, Red. Embrace the goddamn suck. One two three four._ “Nope. You ever hear of Chicago?”  
  
"See? I told you. Nobody ever has. Borin' old farm settlement.” He paused, exhaling sharply to lift the log again. “Chicago, huh? Hmm...Some Earth megatropolis, right? Not that familiar with it other than seein' the name written in history books."

"Yeah. Sheffield and I are practically neighbors. Don't even have to ask where he's from. You can take the guy outta Boston..."

The unscarred twin chuckled. “My accent isn’t _that_ bad.”

“Hell naw. And I’ll be the first human Spectre. Have you heard yourself when you drink? Goddamn... _Pahk ya skycah in Hahvahd yahd._ ” Holy shit, her battle _did_ have a sense of humor.

“Better than some podunk farmboy hick who rolled in the fertilizer while growing up,” Sheffield fired back, face getting steadily redder as the log exercise went on. “Probably shouldn’t’ve eaten the stuff to grow big and strong, though, you feel me? You overdid it.”

“Ouch. What’d they do with you, put you on a stretchin’ rack?”

“Ladies, please…” Leng cut in. “ _Some_ of us have better things to do with our time. Like actually training. Though if you want to drop now, by all means, do so. It just eliminates my competition field.”

That sucked whatever rapport was developing right out of them. Red snorted. Perfect opening for her, though. He really was weak. “Ah, I see. Can’t make it otherwise. Gotta lower the playing field to your level in order to succeed, hmm? Someone was drunk when they sent your invite. Sheffield, you got anybody waiting back in _Bahstahn_?”

A flush dripped down the back of his neck. “No. I...no. Just me,” he replied.

She debated for a moment. Her usual game involved getting to know people without letting them know her, but that didn’t work as well in a leadership position. People wanted to follow people they thought they knew, not a stranger. And what did it matter if they knew she didn’t have family? Just eliminated a possible weak spot. The benefit of possibly developing a simpatico with one of her new guys far outweighed any risk of revealing a small part of her past. “Same,” she said, hefting the log again as sweat plastered damp strands of hair to her forehead. Let them take that how they would.

“Leng, what about you? You got a mamma somewhere or did hell just belch you up out of the ground?” When it got right down to it, she didn’t give a shit about the _stronzo_ , but she couldn’t force his cooperation and she couldn’t kick him out. That meant she had to find a way to deal with him until he broke.

Maybe Kaidan would have some ideas… _No, Red. Don’t go there. Not now._ She needed to focus on the moment; be here, not in Vancouver. She couldn’t afford to start thinking about him now. He probably _could_ give her some advice, though. As an instructor. Hell, he’d managed _her_ , hadn’t he? That was all it was.

“Of course I have a mother. And she’s back home on Earth,” Leng sneered. “Other than that, what does it matter.”

This was going to be a _long_ six weeks. _I’m here. Might as well have some fun._ Fucking with Leng would qualify. _Push him to see how far you have to go to break him. Speed the process up. Shouldn’t take much. An attitude like that can only mean he’s incompetent and he knows it_.

“Not a damn thing, but shut your piehole. This is tedious as fuck without you tryin’ to waste air on obvious shit.” _Or there was that...so much for unit cohesion. The fuck are you playing at, Shepard?_

“Apparently, you people skipped the most basic levels of training,” Red said. “See, Leng and Shepard, when people go into battle with you, they want to know you’re reliable, that you’re gonna watch their backs. Part of the way the majority of humans determine that is by getting to know a person. Therefore, it fucking matters, especially when the entire damn point of this exercise is clearly _teamwork_. Wanna win or do you want to fail because of your goddamn pride?”

Leng’s back stiffened. “Of _course_ the point is teamwork. And we’re here, so clearly we have the training. More obvious facts that I didn’t think were necessary to point out, _Shepard_ and _Shepherd_. We don’t need to be friends, we need to work together. I don’t need everybody’s sob stories on how they got to where they are. I need to get through this so I can get N7. Otherwise there is no point to this.”  

“Pff. I already know everything I need about this asshole,” Shepard grunted, moving the log. “I can work with ‘im. That’s the easy part. If he isn’t goin’ to play nice, he shouldn’t play at all. Let the rest of us work it out.”

“Leng, a tip? If you really want to make it to N7, you should probably _actually_ train rather than just talk about it. Woodcock’s been doing your work and hers and she’s half your size,” Red said. “But if it’s too hard for you, the bell’s right over there. Either use it or pull your weight. We aren’t here to carry you through.”

Heavy breathing perforated the air in between grunts and quiet struggles for the group to shift the log in time to the DIs’ constant chant. _One two three four one two three four_. Rheinscheld’s arms started to shake under the strain. Shepard gave an exasperated huff and the log popped up a little in the back, relieving the load on her own arms for a moment.

“C’mon, just a little more. Motherfuckin’ _ooo_ -rah!” he called, the log moving just a little easier over their heads.

_Fucking adept_.

Yep. She needed to keep an eye on him.

 

~*~*~*~

 

The sun was rising again when the instructors finally called them off the PT field and led them to the barracks. When she stopped in front of the door to her room with Shepard looming behind her, Kirkland said in a bored tone, “Names.”

“Sir, Second Lieutenant Katherine Shepherd, sir.”

“Sir, First Lieutenant Mark Shepard, sir.”

Kirkland blinked at them. “Two Sheps, huh? How’d I miss that one? Oh, well. Works for me. Only one name I have to call when I want you both. Otherwise, you’re femShep and mShep now. Go in, get your shit squared away and be ready for inspection and chow at 1200.”

“Aye aye, sir,” they said together.

The barracks room was laid out like a standard dorm with one twin bed near the door with its head against the wall and the other tucked into the far corner by the window. A pair of wall lockers bisected the room with armor lockers across from them. She moved past the first bed and tossed her shore bag onto the one by the window, noting the pair of desks tucked against the wall. Shepard shrugged and dropped his gear at the foot of the other. Ignoring him, she dumped out the contents of her bag and began neatly stacking them in the wall locker nearest her bed. The sooner she unpacked, the sooner she could get a shower and maybe catch a few minutes of sleep before chow.

“Dibs on the shower.”

Or not.

Fucking adept. He breezed past her and locked the door, leaving his shore bag at the foot of his bed. Greedy bastard. She pursed her lips and looked over her side of the room. There was one more thing she wanted to do before she crashed and now was the perfect time to do it while she had the room to herself. She booted up the console on her desk, typing in _Dion colony, Attican Traverse_ into the search bar. Lists of articles, pictures, statistics, and factoids filled the screen. She clicked the first one.  Perfect.

_I got you now..._

It was no wonder he hadn’t said the name of the colony itself. The images she found were gruesome, but what was somehow worse were the images taken in places where people should have been. The article itself was bland, but to the point:

 

_Mindoir,_ _Hekate System, Hades Nexus,_ ** _Attican Traverse_** _, Milky Way Galaxy_

_Garden World, Human_

_Capital: Carcassone_

_Orbital Distance: 1.6 AU_

_Orbital Period: 2.2 Earth Years_

_[_ _click to expand section_ _]_

 

Overview: _The human_ **_colony_ ** _Mindoir focuses heavily on farming.  The planet itself is quite similar to Earth conditions, though the sky has a slightly more purple hue than that of Earth due to the reddish tint the atmosphere gives refracting light from the sun Hekate.  Primary crops are genetically modified versions of wheat, corn, root vegetables, and fruits so as to not upset the different ecological system Mindoir…[_ _click to expand section_ _]_

 

History: _Founded in 2152, Mindoir is the fourth extrasolar_ **_colony_ ** _founded after Demeter, Eden Prime, and Terra Nova, and the third beyond the Charon Relay.  Idyllic and warm, it was relatively easy for a human population to expand and build a society similar to that on Earth in the years since colonization.  In 2170, batarian raiders attacked the_ **_colony_ ** _at all major settlements and ports in a well-executed and unforeseen attack.  Large settlements, such as_ **_Dion_** _, were hit first, and the Systems Alliance sent the SSV Einstein…[_ _click to expand section_ _]_

  
  
She hadn’t heard about the Mindoir raid. She’d been sucking red sand up her nose and fucking people for her next meal and a roof over her head when it had gone down. _Huh_. Maybe they had a little more in common than she’d thought. Didn’t make him any less an asshole, but not a rich playboy if what was left of the colony was any indication. So, then, who the hell _was_ he?

The water stopped, so she closed out the terminal and rummaged in her wall locker for a towel. She’d read more later. Shepard unlocked the door and ignored her, towel knotted tightly around his trim middle as he started unpacking his shore bag.   _No small talk_. _Thank the gods for small favors._ Maybe they could survive the next few weeks together after all. She had a lot to think about now.

'Founded 2152.' He looked to be close to her age or perhaps a couple years older, whatever her exact age was, so he either would have been an infant or a small child when his family moved there. He’d likely spent his entire life on the colony. That meant everyone he knew had likely died or been captured. Fuck if she didn’t know what that was like. 2170 put him a little older than she’d been when the shit with the Reds went down. At least he’d been old enough to do things she hadn’t been, like get a job on his feet instead of his back and drive a car.  But what did he do  _after_ the raid?

Join the Alliance, maybe? Had that been the catalyst? Did he feel like he owed them for coming to the rescue? _They were too late, so what would he owe? Stupid question, Red. Doesn’t fucking matter once the rest is gone._ Was he trying to protect the innocent or get revenge? Probably the latter. He was an asshole the same way she was a bitch. Easier to be ruthless than to give a shit and _far_ easier to get revenge than to forgive. Fuck that noise.

Had he been the one to find the bodies like she had or were they just _gone_? She shook her head as she bypassed him, carrying her toiletry kit to the bathroom, trying to expel the images of her dead that insisted on overlaying the pictures she’d seen. Each child reminded her of one of her own; every young man bore Alex’ face. She leaned against the closed door with a frown. She couldn’t afford to think about this shit. This wasn’t about _her_. It was about figuring him out because he was now an unknown.

Had he been on the colony when it happened or maybe visiting Earth? Maybe _nothing_ happened to his family. Maybe they were fine. No... He hadn’t answered that part of her question. Probably deliberate, given how much effort he’d put into avoiding giving anything about the colony. She hadn’t noticed at the time, so kudos on him for pulling that over on her, at least temporarily. And that told her another new thing about him. What he _didn’t_ say was at least as important as what he _did_. She’d have to watch for that. He was smarter than she’d given him credit for. Maybe a little more than half a brain, after all.

So, assuming he’d been there, how was it that he was alive when no one else was? How the fuck did an seventeen-ish year old boy survive something like that? She’d seen the batarians in action on Elysium. She knew just how much firepower they could throw at a target and the kind of numbers they brought with them. Of course, the Blitz had been an exaggerated example, so it probably hadn’t been _that_ extreme, but for a farm kid that age to withstand something like that… Had he fought back or hidden? Did he actually _see_ his family die? That, at least, was something she’d been spared. If she’d had to watch...no way in hell she’d be even remotely sane.

She slammed the door on that train of thought.

No sense wondering about it. He wouldn’t tell her if she asked and she didn’t blame him. That shit wasn’t hers anymore than hers was for him. Sometimes, her curiosity was more of a detriment than a benefit. Gods knew if she didn’t stop thinking about... _shit that’s dead and buried, Red. Leave it..._ she’d be tossing and turning for the few minutes when she’d actually be able to sleep if she hurried and got her fucking shower. No more dead kids. No more ancient history. _Here and now, Red. Here and now._     

The bathroom they shared with the room next door was a decent size, tiled and functional with no ‘extras’. She arranged her toiletries, noting with some relief that Shepard hadn’t left a mess behind. They’d be living together for at least the next six weeks and possibly longer if they both got invited back for the same N2 course. If he proved to be a tolerable roommate and a halfway decent battle buddy, she’d rather keep things the way they were. _The devil you know..._ Gods knew that even finding 'tolerable' and 'halfway decent' was a crap shoot.

She sank down onto the closed toilet lid as the reality of her situation finally hit her. Her muscles were jellied and screaming. Her uniform was stiff with dried sweat. Her feet felt as if they were filled with lead and she wasn’t sure if she _actually_ had sand in her eyes or if she was just that exhausted. She certainly had it everywhere else. She was dying for a cigarette but too tired to drag herself outside to smoke. None of that mattered. She was _here_.

_Holy shit. I’m at ICT_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Glossary_ :
> 
> stronzo - asshole (Italian)


	2. Smoked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories...”_ ~Haruki Murakami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is strongly recommended you read _[the Wild Card series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/824706)_ if you’re interested in Mark’s history

**_Unbreakable_** , by Kate_Shepard and potionsmaster

 

Rating: E for sex, drugs, rock n’ roll, and country.  Otherwise known as ‘Violence out the wazoo’ and actual country.  (Country needs a warning label.)  Heed the warnings and tags, kiddies.  It ain’t pretty.

 

 **Chapter 2:**   _Smoked_

 

~*~*~*~  

 

Mark sighed, face buried in his forearm against the tiled wall.  Steam roiled around him, hot water pelting his tired muscles.  Week one at ICT was done and accounted for.  What a week it was, too.  If he didn’t know it was only going to pick up in intensity, he would have called it a ‘hell week’.   _That_ special pleasure was still in the future.  Seven more days.  No sense in concentrating on it currently.  Some of the others in their group were already working themselves up over it.  Blondie-- _Rheinscheld_ , he remembered with a grimace--was a fuckin’ basketcase.  Wasted energy.  There was no point to getting that worked up over something that was inevitable, but whatever.  She coped differently than he did.

 He couldn’t say he was looking forward to it, exactly, but it was worth noting.  Another step forward, another tick mark on the list, one step closer.   _How does an ant eat a buffalo?_  His stomach churned as he fought the thought floating up, unbidden and unwanted.  

  _One bite at a time_.  

 Stupid old joke.

 The last thing he wanted to do was dredge up old memories again.  They’d been haunting him all week.  No sense in reliving the past, though.  Done was done and buried in a shoebox in his closet on Arcturus, chapter finished and book closed.  

 Move on.

 He understood the need other people had to talk about their families and their lives outside of their little slice of hell.  He just didn’t have anything to add to the conversation.  Nothing worth saying, anyway.  Sure, a few of the others were on their own like he was for various reasons or others, but he didn’t care.  _There’s always something if you dig deep enough on anybody._  That particular memory was a little more recent.  Blue eyes like his, deeper and wiser by far, sparked in his mind’s eye with the sultry voice.  Mirala was definitely a ‘something’.  And before coming here, it had been the last time he thought about them, too.   _Family_.  Only that time, he had used them like a weapon.  Cut only as far as he’d been willing to be cut himself.  

 _Mach es fertig. Get it done_.  

_Ja, Vati._

 Someone pounded on the door leading to the other room that shared the bathroom with him and his battle buddy. “You almost done in there?  Or are you trying to grow a pair of gills?”

“Fuck off,” he yelled back, “Only been a few minutes.”

“But I gotta pee!”

“So?  There’re bushes outside.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Sounds like a personal problem, cupcake. You realize that by continuing this conversation, I am now distracted and am going to take even longer.  Right?”

“The fuck are you doing in there?”

“Polishing the family jewels, all nice and shiny-like.  I’m _showering_ , the fuck do you _think_ I’m doin’?”  It _had_ been a consideration when he’d first gotten in there, but he wound up vetoing it after a few mindless strokes.  He wasn’t really that worked up about anything, just tired at the moment.  He sighed again, pushing himself off the wall and tilting his head under the showerhead.  Even here, he was still a hair too tall to fit under it comfortably.  Suds erupted under his hands over his buzzed hair, chasing themselves down his skin and the drain.  Let the memories follow them.

Christ, he was getting sentimental.  He blamed it on the exhaustion.  There wasn’t any response from the door.  They must’ve gotten bored or pissed off enough to leave.  Fine by him.  Let him finish up in blissful peace, water drowning out the little thoughts trying to crawl up.  He rinsed his hair and leaned on the cool tiles again.  The heat from the shower felt nice on his shoulder.  It was still a little tender from goddamn Leng and the goddamn log stunt he pulled.  Most of the time he could forget anything had even happened to it but for the long, thin scar along his collarbone if he glanced at himself in the mirror.  Any time anything solid bumped or hit it, he remembered right quick there was metal under the skin.  An uncomfortable burst of heat would rush out, feeling for all his worth like blood was gushing from a hidden wound and making his skin prickle underneath.  That fuckin’ ponce kept that sensation going steady for almost the entire PT session that day.

It had been a goddamn relief to drop the log and run buckets of sand instead.  Lifting he could do.  Torres made him amused.  “Move my sand pile.”  He knew where it was going.  And he was proved right five hours later at sunrise when she barked, “Never mind, cadets, I liked it better where it was.  Move it again.”  And then the bell rung.  The first of the group had fallen.  Cochran tapped out, stumbling over his feet and grasping for the rope to the clapper.   _One, two, three_.  They all ignored him, passing the bucket full of sand down the line and empty back up.  He had to hand it to femShep, she had some pretty decent ideas of how to accomplish the menial tasks given to the group.

He couldn’t really remember much of what happened after that.  It all blurred together after 36 hours straight of going steady, sand, wind, surf all hitting them at any given point in time.  The sun rose and brought the heat with it, relentless as it beat down on them through it all.  Running through sand in combat boots was always a chore, but the Rio sun made sure it was worse.  DI Torres seemed to take special pleasure in singling him out, too.  Just like she’d been up his ass this morning again.

“Shepard!”

“Ma’am, which one, ma’am?” both he and his battle had called out, panting.  The sand added five pounds to his feet and the sun five to his back.  This was going to get old real fast.

“Tall Shep. You look like you should be a goddamn crow’s nest.  Do you have a nice view up there?”

“No, ma’am.”

“That’s a damn shame, Tall Shep.  I need you to scout, y’see.”

“Ma’am?”

“Take a look at your platoon.  Use that height.  What do you see?”

He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and craned his head around.  All he saw was a shifting mass of camo around him.  Thoughts were difficult to form and he didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for.

“Well, Shep?”

“I see...uniforms.  Soldiers running.”

“I didn’t know you were a captain.  Thought you were just a first LT.”

“Ma’am?”

“Everybody, turn and salute Captain Obvious.” The sarcasm was as dense as the humidity.  “No _shit_ you see soldiers running, that’s what they’re _doing_.  Know what they are and you’re not?   _Pushing_.”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”  

They ran a few minutes more, footsteps thudding dully in the hot sand and echoing in his ears.   _Push_. He was.  Or he thought he was.  He was still here, still moving.  He wasn’t getting left behind.  His battle was on his seven in his periphery, panting heavily and keeping pace as well as she could, but it was only a matter of time before the rest of them started to pull away just a bit.  Long legs covered more ground, that was just a fact.  

“Tall Shep!” Torres bellowed.

“Yes ma’am!”

“I told you to fucking _push_.  You are not _doing_ it.  I’m going to do you and small Shep a favor now, in hopes it will help you both in the end out of the goodness of my non-existent heart.”

His stomach dropped.  Fuck.

“Pick up Lieutenant Stubby in a fireman’s carry and run back two miles.  You will both sprint to catch up.  You will both arrive at the same time, because you will both push each other.  If you do not do it to my satisfaction, you will do it again.  Is that understood?”    

“Ma’am, yes ma’am.”

He pulled out of formation and saw Shepherd slow down to a crawl, staring at DI Torres like she sprouted another head.  Her green eyes flashed at him before she focused back on the drill instructor.  

“ _Now_ , Sheps.  Do not make me ask a _gain_.”

His jaw clenched as he approached his battle.  She was muttering something unintelligible under her breath.  Whatever it was, it wasn’t English, that was for certain.  Her face was carefully blank as he scooped her up over his shoulder and hauled ass back to the starting point.  At least her tiny butt was light; she couldn’t have weighed more than his full tac gear and weapon load out soaking wet.  Her elbows dug uncomfortably into his shoulderblade and he tried not to jounce her around too badly.  The last fucking thing he needed was her puking down his back and he’d be stuck in it for another day and a half.  

Welcome to the suck indeed.

Panting, he slid her down to the sand and caught her eye.  They gleamed as she fought an impish smile. It _was_ a bit ridiculous.  “Ready?” he asked, grinning himself.

“Let’s roll.”

Off they sprinted, with her taking four steps for every two of his.  It was a bit more than ridiculous at this point, he scoffed to himself as he checked his stride a bit.  They were supposed to arrive together, after all.  His lungs burned in the stale air.  Another glance at the red-haired streak next to him showed her grimacing as she pulled ahead of him.  Fuck that shit.  Torres wanted him to push?  Fine. He’d push.  Push her right off the damn jetty where the bell was and into the ocean. Then he could tell her the view was just fine from where he was, thank you very much.

Shepherd ducked her head and doubled down, surging forward.  

Over-achieving puff piece.  Everybody knew the only reason she was here was some higher-ups in the brass wanted to keep the good press of the Hero of the Blitz going so they could increase recruitment numbers.  Nobody would care if she dropped before reaching N1.  It was just so the brass could say their poster girl had undergone training at the Villa.  She could continue coasting through promotions and PR tours and never see _real_ action again.  Fuckin’ show dog.   _Woof, woof, bitch_.  Maybe he’d push _her_ off the jetty, too.  Save her the embarrassment of ringing out.

He lengthened his stride again, quickly catching up and passing her.  _Wanna play, little girl?  Let’s see if you can run with the big dogs._  They were almost at the point Torres made them go back.  His lungs were on fucking _fire_ , but there was no way in hell he was giving ground again. Ragged breathing rent the air next to him and he chanced a glimpse at her. She was struggling. Valiant effort to keep up, but she was running out of steam, and fast, too.  The rest of the platoon was just ahead, maybe three-quarters of a mile.  

“Can you make it?” he breathed, sand coating his mouth.  She barely furrowed her brows at him.  

“Faster than _you_ ,” she rasped and lurched forward again.  He stifled an eye roll and reduced his pace a fraction.

“If you say so…”

They matched each other stride for stride and finally hit the back of the platoon again, much to Torres’ amused smirk.

“About time, slowpokes,” she griped at them.  Shepherd had paused a moment, bent over and gasping for air, hands on her knees.  He couldn’t fault her for wanting to catch her breath; he coughed and walked in a circle around her, trying to prevent the lactic acid from turning his legs absolutely useless.  “Back in line.  I catch you slacking again, we do it again.”

“Yes ma’am.”  

They both wheezed the reply and filled in the two empty spots in the back of the platoon.  The pace was a cakewalk compared to what they just did.  Shepherd was on his nine this time, jaw clenched and eyes almost blank.  Sixty more paces and they were allowed to stop by two folding tables, each set up with cups and bottles.  DI Kirkland was waiting for them.

"Biotics, get a red cup and a blue cup. Non-biotics, take two blue cups.  Blue cup is for _water_.  Red is for that tasty little electrolyte juice.  Drink up, we move in five.  Give you ladies your room assignments."

The platoon hustled into formation again, DI Kirkland calling cadence and Mark let his mind go blank.   _HUT two three four, Keep-it-UP two three four._  Grabbing their gear and falling back into formation went by in a blur, boots stomping a soothing rhythm on the pavement as they made their way to the barracks.  Two giant cement blocks pretending to be buildings jutted out of the ground, tied together with open cement walkways between them.  He stared up at them and shifted his shore bag to his good shoulder, numb inside.  At least they didn’t have to fucking _run_ this time.

 

~*~*~*~

 

The sky was a nice shade of blue, regardless of the disgusting haze in the air.  The cement bench was hard against Mark’s back, smoke drifting lazily up from the cigarette burning between his fingers.  He blinked, staring at the clouds scudding across his field of vision.  One kinda looked like a jackal.  He liked it.  Another one sorta resembled a tree.  Didn’t look anything like any of the ones here on campus, though.  

ICT.  He was at fuckin’ _ICT._

His battle buddy was off to his three.  Shepherd.  She spelled it wrong.  Petite little thing, too.  Fiery attitude and hair to match.  She was leaning as nonchalantly as possible against a wall just as rough as the bench in the smoke pit, hip cocked to the side with a practiced ease.  Tough titties he could see her fighting the tension in her shoulders, though.  He _almost_ sympathized with her.  It couldn’t have been easy to come here with a nice, shiny target pinned to her chest.  Hero of the fuckin’ Blitz.  All it meant was she had a piece of luck that day and all the expectations that now came with it.  And that she was logical choice to be the heavy favorite the instructors were going to pit everyone against.  

He didn’t really care when it got down to it.  She’d just be another statistic when she rang the bell.  For now, she was a useful target.  Something to aim for and surpass.  She exhaled heavily, puff of smoke dissipating in his periphery.  That almost surprised him, too.  He thought she’d be so damn squeaky clean, she probably didn’t know which end to suck on.  Nice to see she had a bit of grit to her.  Maybe she wasn’t a complete puff piece.

At least she knew how to keep her side of the room to regs.  Thank god.  They’d passed inspection and earned a break.  They hadn’t had one since they hit the ground running yesterday.

The sun had been too bright and the air was a little too humid for his preference, but he figured that was probably the reason the Systems Alliance had chosen Rio for their little slice of hell to train in.  The other soldiers milled around him, water rushing around a rock in the stream, while they waited for the gangway to let them out on the tarmac.  The shuttle ride had been uneventful, all things considered.  He had tried to keep to himself as much as possible.  There was another guy on there who could have been his younger brother if he squinted.  Best to avoid him for now.  Then there was a curvaceous, raven-haired bombshell that caught his eye: Vanessa Shetty, she had said when they introduced themselves.  She caught him eyeing her and eyed him right back, coy smile on her lips and heat smoldering in her dark eyes.  He had a feeling she was going to be an interesting one to have in their class.  Another one, Leng he thought he remembered, kept shooting his mouth off about his credentials and how he was going all the way to N7.

He didn’t care.  Leng wasn’t any concern of his; he wasn’t here to make friends.  Or enemies, for that matter.  Mark just needed to keep his head down and mouth shut.  Kahoku had made it bloody apparent this was a test. _Just like the last mission had been_.  

Another heavy exhale and the scrape of a boot against the pavement scratched through the still air.  “Back to work,” she deadpanned.  He rolled his head to the side and flicked his ash, not willing to move yet.  

“According to my very accurate watch here, I still have…” he held his cig up in front of his face, “...two minutes left, thereabouts.  And I plan to use every single bit of them.”  He dropped his hand back on his stomach, watching the clouds move again.  This time there was a crocodile with a misshapen jaw chasing a banana playing a piano.  He wondered which of them was the banana and which was the crocodile a moment, then the wind shifted it all into wisps of shredded cotton.

Shame.  That one was interesting.

He eyed her still form surreptitiously.  Chin tucked to chest, arms crossed and leaning on the wall again, eyes closed.  Note how she wasn’t complaining about the extra time.  It was hard not to put an edge of bitterness in that.  She wouldn’t be the one to take the time for herself, but boy howdy was she going to use it if opportunity presented itself.  Hell, he’d heard nary a peep from her about hardly anything, come to think of it. Besides sarcasm and orders, anyway.  And a canned attempt to get to know the current squad and form unit cohesion.

Please.

Her method was a little bland, but it kinda worked.  Good enough for government work, as the saying went.  He supposed she was used to using that phrase.  He would have preferred using a little more personable touch himself, a bit of amicability, but then again he wasn’t assigned unit commander.  Small blessings in that, since he really didn’t care for the added responsibility.  Not yet, anyway.  

A quick glance down at the cigarette showed time was almost up; the cherry was almost at the filter.  Damn.  He rolled himself to sitting up on the bench, long legs straddling it as he looked back over at Shepherd.  “ _Now_ it’s time to go,” he said, stubbing out the butt and tossing it in the receptacle.  Her eyelids pulled up slowly, face still blank.  

“You in the habit of wasting perfectly good cigarettes?” she griped as they started walking towards the chow hall. Figures.

“Not a waste,” he replied, matching her bored annoyance. “Only way to get a goddamn break.  And sometimes I just need to burn ten.”  

She rolled her lips inward a moment, then said, “...I can respect that.”

Not the response he had been expecting.

They entered the hall together and he held the door above her head, letting her walk through first and grab a tray.  He grabbed one himself and scanned the stations.  Protein: pork chops or chicken, eggplant parmesan for the ‘vegetarians’ if they chose it.  Salad bar with toppings.  He ignored the overflowing dessert station.  None of that shit ever appealed even back home.  All it did now was remind him of birthday parties and holiday celebrations.   _No thank you._  

He got a couple of pieces of chicken and loaded his plate with salad fixings, dressing on the side.  If nothing else, that was something he could pretty much count on being available.  A couple of water bottles and one energy drink later and he craned his head around, looking for his battle buddy again.  She just had to be the tiniest one in the whole place.  Too easy to lose in a crowd.  He spied her hair pinned back in a neat bun, glowing cherry red when the sun hit it through the window.  At least it was a little brighter than his mother’s.  Redheads were somewhat unusual in the human population, or at least, he quickly amended, natural ones were.  Plenty came from a bottle.

His mother’s hair had been auburn.  A warm chestnut brown with copper, blazing with orange highlights in the Mindoir sunlight.  Shepherd’s was more intense, deep and fiery, less brown in it by far.  Easier to block the memories if he concentrated on the brightness.  At least she didn’t look a thing like her in the face.  He slid his tray next to hers on the table and immediately pursed his lips.  Of course she got the pork chops.  Fan-fuckin’-tastic.

He put his elbow on the table between their trays and leaned on it, resting his head on his fist.  Hopefully subtle enough so that she wouldn’t question him and effectively blocking his view of it  He’d be ok as long as he kept his face away and couldn’t smell it.   _That_ was one memory that would never leave, as much as he tried.  Burning bodies tended to leave a mental stain and so did their stench.

Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice or if she did, didn’t feel the need to comment.  It gave him an opportunity to try to recenter himself and get out of his own head, strange as that sounded.  Enough walks down memory lane.  He knew it was going to be difficult to get through training, but he didn’t need to help the instructors in breaking him down.  They seemed perfectly capable of being able to do that on their own.  He glanced at the satellite clock on the wall.  25 more minutes to finish whatever was on his tray, then four more hours PT.  He could do that.  One foot in front of the other, one forkful after another.   _One bite at a..._   He refused to finish that thought.  Enough wallowing.  He sighed and focused on his plate; he was already feeling a little shaky.  If he didn’t force himself to eat, he’d up his chances of getting sick to his stomach even more, and _that_ was unacceptable.   

He sighed and took a small bite, starting at the bottom of the plate and working clockwise around the perimeter, not looking up.  He knew he’d see his mother tapping her index finger on the table in front of him, wordless command intrinsically understood.   _Clean your plate_.  Then he did it again, then again until the plate was mostly clear and the clock ran down.  It was the only way he knew how to force himself to eat, and it had come in handy over the years.

Time.

They deposited their trash and trays, then went back out to meet DIs Kirkland and Torres in front of the barracks.  Torres immediately locked onto him.

“MShep!  I don’t like the look on your face right now.  I can only assume it’s because you don’t like running and you know for damn sure that’s what we’re doing.”

“Ma’am, no ma’am.”

“Fireman hold femShep, run back two miles, you both sprint to catch up.  Arrive together.  You know the routine.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He did know the routine.  Torres had them do the same damn thing the day before.  But he didn’t know green eyes could be that angry as he picked his battle buddy up and hauled ass.  Helluva way to start four hours.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Six hours later found him in the middle of the most asinine and persnickety fuckin’ bitch fit with his battle ’buddy’ he never expected to be in.  They were both exhausted and run down, so it wasn’t a surprise that tempers were short.  But this was borderline ridiculous.

“ _No,_ ” he growled.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s on my side of the fuckin’ room and I said abso-fuckin’-lutely not.”

“You are _such_ an asshole!”

“No, I’m not, I want to _sleep_.”

“So do I!  It is two goddamn de _grees_ ,” she ground out.  He imagined her teeth were grit and the neck cords were bulging under her skin, but it was lights out and he didn’t fuckin’ give a shit.

“Yuh.  Put on a hoodie.  I need it colder so I can fuckin’ sleep.  In case you didn’t figure it out, biotics run _hot_.  As such, it needs to be _cold_.”

“And how the fuck am I supposed to sleep when I’m over here shivering my fucking ass off? I’m not bundling up so much I can’t goddamn _breathe_ just so you can have a fucking blanket on _and_ the room freezing. Running hot doesn’t help when you _radiate_ all of it off of you.  You keep it that cold, I’m opening the fucking window.  I’m not asking for a goddamn sauna. I’m asking for not-a-fucking- _i_ _cebox_.”

“I’m not under a goddamn _blanket_ , I’m sweatin’ my balls off on top of the fuckin’ sheets.  Here-” he tossed his hoodie at her side of the room “-fuckin’ _blanket_ on you, anyway. 68 fuckin’ degrees is not a goddamn _icebox_ , it’s comfortable.  Brat.”

A scoff came from the other side of the room under a ‘flump’ of heavy cloth hitting its mark. "Brat? Really? Best you could do?"

"Calling you a bitch outright to your face without getting to know you at least a little is impolite."

"But muttering it at my back every time you don't like a call I make is the height of manners. _Riiiight_."

Ah.  She was going there.   _Alright, little girl, I’ll bite._  Maybe there was a little more to the argument than just the temperature.

"Don't mutter you're a _bitch_. Mutter you're a token show dog for the _brass_.  That star is your choke chain and collar."

He swore he could feel the temperature drop with the frigid tone of her voice. " _Ohhh_. Is _that_ the problem? You think I'm here for, what, PR?” She scoffed.  “How, exactly, do you think I got that goddamn _star_?"

"Just sayin' you were not the only one there.  You got that piece of tin on the blood and backs of everyone else there and you're just lappin’ it up."  He paused.  She was rustling around in her bedclothes and it was aggravating as shit. "Walkin' around here like you own the place...the rest of us actually had to do something to be here without the brass liftin’ us up. 

"Erickson, Jarvis, Davis, Hart, Kaddu, Pahman, Childress, Abbott, Hodge, Kennemore, Medley, Vernon, Watts, Bradshaw…” The disdain dripped from her mouth.  “Want me to keep going? I can list 'em all. You want the order they fell in, too, and how? And when they fell, what do you think stood between ten thousand _batarian_ raiders and a million scared _colonists_ for five fucking hours till the Alliance finally arrived? So, now, tell me again what you've done... _cupcake_."  The sneer carried well enough in the dark.  He grit his teeth and lumped his pillow up under his chest, turning his back to her.

"Oh, I dunno, the other hold outs on the other parts of the planet that were gettin’ attacked?” He derisively snorted and let his own voice go hard.  “So you can recite names.  Cut the bullshit.  How do I know you're not just pulling names out your ass?  As for myself, I don't kiss and tell.   _Cupcake_.  You did your fuckin’ job after they fell.  Nothin' more.  Thermostat is on _my_ side of the room.  Touch it and I will saw your _goddamn_ hand off with your toothbrush.   _Bitch_."

"You don’t follow much, do you? There were no other parts of the colony getting attacked.  Why would you automatically think _that_?”  He froze.  Good point...she had him there. “Let me give you a little history lesson, mShep. The batarians centered their raid on Illyria, meaning that once the walls were breached and the soldiers and security forces were down, the colonists broke and retreated to the bunkers. Which put _me_ between the civilians and the invading ground forces. And I held. _Because_ it was my fucking job.”  Thick cloth collapsed on his head as she threw his sweatshirt back at him.  “Green isn't your color, _caro_. Keep the thermostat and keep your hoodie. Windows are on _my_ side of the room. Touch them and I'll choke you with my sparkly collar."

He chuckled at that, wrestling free from his sweatshirt and draping it over the headboard. "Woof, woof, bitch. See you at reveille."  Cicadas and distant city noise filled the room with dank, muggy air.  Unbe-fuckin’-lievable.

"Sweet dreams, princess," she said cheerfully.

"...Imma _fuckin’_ kill you."

"Good luck and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor."  More rustling from her side of the room with the bright wish of luck.  He sighed heavily.

"What're you gonna do, punch me in the knees?"

"Oh, I can reach a little bit higher than _that_ , babycakes."  That got him to grin.  He used similar nicknames to get under people’s skin.  She had gumption, that’s for damn sure.  They’d get along just fine.

"Mm. Flirt.  Not lookin' for that, though, thanks for askin'."

"Not my type anyway."  She was back to sounding bored.  He’d be willing to bet she was just as amused at the whole exchange as he was at this point.

"Show dog ain't mine, either.  You offered, I declined."

"Little bit rougher than I like it, but if that's your idea of a good time, you do you."  There was a hint of amusement in her retort.  He responded in kind.

"That's what the shower is for. For real. _Sleep_." He rolled back over, hugging his pillow under his head and fell asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Anything But Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I am wary of the whole dreary deadening structured mess that we have built into such a glittering top-heavy structure that there is nothing left to see but the glitter, and the brute routines of maintaining it.”_ ~ John D. MacDonald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is violence, bloody violence in this chapter. And explosives. Consider this your warning shot across the bow; if you don't like this chapter, it _will_ get worse.

**_Unbreakable_** , by Kate_Shepard and potionsmaster

 

Rating: E for sex, drugs, rock n’ roll, and country.  Otherwise known as ‘Violence out the wazoo’ and actual country.  (Country needs a warning label.)  Heed the warnings and tags, kiddies.  It ain’t pretty.

 

 **Chapter 3:** _Anything But Routine_

 

~*~*~*~

 

<Chat Request>

<to: krshepherd@alliance.xnet>

<from: kyalenko@alliance.xnet>

KA: <Hey, LT.>

KS: <Hey, yourself, handsome. How’s it going?>

KA: <It's going. SSDD. You?>

KS: <Got stuck with a cocky fucking adept for a roommate again.>

KA: <It's a good thing you have experience, then.  Do you have to pin his corners, too?>

KS: <Corners of his mouth, maybe, if he doesn't quit running it. He can make a bed, at least. Though, he does keep the AC set to Noveria. Which is fine. Windows are on my side.>

KA: <You do seem unusually *adept* at landing mouthy roommates. I think I'm taking his side on the AC/windows issue, though.>

KS: <Heh heh heh. I see what you did there. Clever… You would. At least he doesn’t leave toothpaste in the sink.>

KA: <Well, that’s a relief.  How is it so far aside from the asshole adept?>

KS: <Our illustrious drill instructor in her infinite wisdom decided *I* should be team lead for my boat crew. I'm supposed to pull these people together into a team and... I have no idea how to do that.>

KA: <Yes, you do.  You did it here. Look to their strengths. Give them a purpose.>

KS: <Having trouble finding strengths with this crew. We've got one chick who does nothing but cry. Another guy who's determined to tear apart any semblance of unit cohesion to stroke his ego. The asshole adept constantly trying to take over. Only one who actually seems like he might be easy to work with and he's afraid of *water* and won't make it past hell week.>

KA: <Part of being a leader is learning to look harder, dig deeper. There's a reason they were all invited. If the asshole adept wants to take over, use it to your advantage. Delegate to him. If the others see you two working as a unit, they will fall in or be cut>

KS: <You're brilliant, K. If he's going to do it anyway and they're going to listen, might as well make it my idea...>

KA: <As long as they actually do listen to him.  If they ignore him, use aquaphobic guy instead. You can do this>

KS: <Aquaphobic guy could be useful till he gets cut. And the undermining narcissist? Any suggestions on him besides drowning?>

KA: <I'm sure that's tempting, but try to restrain yourself. N1 is ultimately about teamwork. That problem will take care of itself. Push him harder. He'll either step up or step aside. That choice is up to him, not you.>

KS: <Pushing till he breaks was my go-to after drowning. Are you sure I can't try the latter? Surf passage, boats capsizing, oars flying around. Anything can happen, really... I know that sounds terrible, but if you met him, you'd want to kill him, too>

KA: <Kate. You don't have to like them. You just have to get them to work together. Remember the chain analogy? Do I need to ask for my report?>

KS: <My links are broken and rusty>

KA: <Then polish them up and solder the weak points. That's your job and one you'll be doing for the rest of your career>

 

~*~*~*~

 

The black skin of the zodiac was hot against Red’s palm. She stood at the stern of the inflatable with mShep and Alphabet to either side in front of her and the rest of the team lined up in front of them in descending height order with Bertram at the bow. Around them, other boat teams were similarly positioned, waiting on the instructors to give the order to enter the water. Surf passage. Hopefully, this time went better than the last ones. Thus far, they’d come in second to Morley’s team every time. And what was second place? First fuckin’ loser. As the instructors delighted in reminding them every time.

The problem was that it wasn’t just one problem. The end of week one and they still lacked unit cohesion. Fucking Rheinscheld was _still_ crying every goddamn day. Leng seemed determined to fuck everything up, preferring to look bad himself as long as it made the rest look worse than have anyone outperform him. As she’d told Kaidan, Sheffield had a phobia of water and fought to control his panic every time a fucking wave swept over the boat--which was almost constant--and gods only knew what he was going to do next week during night passage. Bertram, at least, followed orders and kept her mouth shut. Bradford had rung out two days before, bringing in Jones to replace him. The guy who’d taken Cochran’s place the second day--Pryczmatrivet. What a fuckin’ mouthful. Easier to call him Alphabet--seemed to at least know his asshole from his elbow, but he was still new, too.

Then there was Shepard. Her _buddy_. Still a cocky, arrogant asshole, but at least he was good with an oar and seemed to have developed the ability to anticipate when she wanted them to row and when to hold. He paid attention when it counted, even if his attitude hadn’t improved in the last week. They were still at war over the damn A/C. It was a battle of wills at this point, neither of them willing to bend. So she kept opening the windows and he kept cranking the air down. The cadre was going to shit a brick when they got the power bill. Worth it. No way was she letting that motherfucker win.

Kirkland barked out an order and they hefted the zodiac into the air, managing to get it up with only a single bob of the boat. The taller members of the team bent their elbows, lowering it enough for the shorter ones like her to reach. At least _that_ was coming together. It had taken days, but they’d finally realized that making it easier on everyone made it easier on themselves. Everyone wanted to be a fuckin’ showoff, but most of them hadn’t figured out yet that this phase was not where they wanted to stand out. The time for that would come later.

“Go, go, _go!_ ”

They broke into a run, the boat still above their heads, and splashed into the water until they were deep enough for it not to catch on the bottom. In turn, they rolled over the rounded side of the inflatable and took their seats in the boat. Red felt a hand grasp the back of her bright red life jacket and haul her in. Shepard unceremoniously dumped her onto the stern of the boat with a scowl. “Hop to it,” he muttered, but there was a devious spark in the back of his eyes. Their little war _was_ kinda fun and after that first heated bitch-fest, it almost felt like they were poking each other just to get a rise rather than actually arguing.

“Stroke! Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!” she called out as the others paddled and she used her oar as a rudder. It wasn’t as easy as it goddamn looked. Her forearms strained with the effort of keeping the inflatable moving in a straight line with the waves crashing over them. Bertram bailed water for all she was worth. “Don’t. Even. Think. About it. She _pard_ ,” she intoned in the same cadence when she saw his jaw twitch. She could hear it now. _That’s what she said_.  

A particularly large wave made its way toward them and she saw Sheffield tense, steeling himself. Thus far, he’d managed to control the fear, and gods knew they’d had plenty of opportunities to work on it. She was beginning to think he might even survive Phase One and found herself somewhat hoping he did. He was more tolerable than most of the others. She’d been making sure he was by her during surf torture, when the instructors would make them lie down in the surf with their arms linked together, allowing the waves to wash over them. She found it kinda relaxing, but it was a test of Sheffield’s will every damn time. As team lead, it was her job to work him through it and fucking Leng certainly wasn’t helping. He seemed to take sadistic pleasure in his battle buddy’s distress.

“Keep your oars in the water!” Red reminded them. Lift them out during a wave and they became projectiles. Rheinscheld had already caught Alphabet in the side of the head with hers once and broke his nose. His eyes still had pale purple circles under them. He hadn’t quit, though, and that was something. Still, she’d prefer not to repeat that little disaster.

Fortunately, this time, they all listened. The zodiac flew upward, saltwater crashing in their faces and washing around their feet, to shoot up over the crest. Red whooped as her stomach flipped in response. The zodiac lurched down, gliding swiftly over the back side of the wave. _Fuck, yes!_ Like a fucking roller-coaster ride. _That_ was how that was supposed to happen. “Stroke!” she ordered, gripping her oar tighter and fighting the press of the water to straighten them out again. Sheffield’s face was tight and pale, but he was still with them. Water sprayed from Bertram’s bucket as she continued to bail.

They pulled ahead of the other teams and Red looked around with a satisfied grin. They weren’t going to be the first to fucking lose this time. Fina-fuckin-ly, they were pulling their shit together. About damn time, too. Another wave, this one bigger than the last. Her heart pounded in anticipation. This was the fun part in the middle of all the shit.

Red just happened to be looking at Leng when they met the beginning of the swell. He’d turned his head to face Shepard and the glint in his eye was enough to give her an idea of his next move. His oar broke the surface of the water as the zodiac began to rise. “Shepard, duck!” she shouted. He didn’t hesitate, throwing his head down just as Leng shoved his oar at his head. Sheffield knocked it aside, ensuring that it sailed harmlessly over Shepard, but the loss of their strongest paddlers was enough to send the zodiac careening up and over. Red’s back hit the water with a smack and the wave crashed down on her head, sending her flailing in a swirling storm of water and bubbles.

She kicked to the surface, looking around for her team, and did a headcount before swimming over to Sheffield and grabbing him by the vest before he could fully panic. She needed to focus him. “Sheffield, headcount. Now.”

He blinked and shook his head. “Seven...no. Eight. All present and accounted for.”

“Good. Now, get to the zodiac. I am _not_ losing to Morley because your buddy decided to be an ass.”

She swam alongside him to the inflatable and rolled in, trudging through ankle-deep water to get to Leng’s seat as he grasped the sides. This was the last time that little shithead was going to interfere with her training. She held her hand out behind her and felt an oar slap into her palm. Leng’s eyes widened when she used it to shove him back into the water and placed a foot on the side, leaning a forearm on her knee as the boat bobbed in the water. “You can stay there,” she said. “You and I are going to have a little come-to-Jesus.”

“What do you think you’re doing, Shepherd?” he sneered. “Let me up.”

“No. See, at this point, you are the weak link holding us back. You are the reason we have to do extra PT. You have injured or attempted to injure three separate people this week alone. The way I see it, we’d be better off without you.” She let the mask slide, allowing her expression to go blank, her eyes to go dead, and her voice to drop. “You know, there are so many ways a person can get injured or even killed out here. So many unfortunate accidents can happen in the water, away from shore. And it would be terribly sad if one were to happen to you, but we can always replace you. Sheffield could find a new buddy; couldn’t you, Sheffield?”

“Plenty of fish in the sea, right? Especially with people dropping left and right.” He didn’t look at them.

“You’re threatening me,” Leng sneered. “You wouldn’t touch me. You have too many witnesses.”

“To what?” she asked. “I’m just warning you about the dangers of open water. I’m sure if anything were to happen to you, it would be an unfortunate accident. Right, guys?”

“Yuh,” Shepard agreed.

“Oh, yeah. Tragic, really,” Alphabet said.

“These things do happen,” Bertram sighed. Even Rheinscheld pushed the hair back from her face and nodded, glaring at Leng.

“So, Leng. Seems you have a decision to make. Get your shit squared away and stop causing problems or the next time you cause an ‘accident’, we’ll ‘accidentally’ end up towing your body back to shore behind the zodiac. _Kapisch_?”

“Let. Me. _In_ ,” he snarled.

She reached out, grasping the front of his life jacket, and hauled him up, bringing his ear to her lips. “Don’t _fuck_ with my battle buddy, Leng.” She dropped him face-first into the water at her feet and resumed her place at the back.

“Aw, cupcake, didn’t realize you cared so much,” Shepard said with a smirk. “Heart you, too.”

“Don’t want to have to find someone who folds their towels right,” she said, replacing her oar in the water as they turned to shore.

 

~*~*~*~

 

<Chat Request>

<to: kyalenko@alliance.xnet>

<from: krshepherd@alliance.xnet>

KS: <Report, huh?  I could get you a few. Still working on the rest.  
Rheinscheld: Oklahoma, married with a son, low self esteem, doesn't seem familiar enough with the concept of separation to have been deployed often, physically stronger than she looks.

Sheffield: Boston, aquaphobic--notable because Boston has a bay, so experience?--no family. Trying not to project my own history onto him. Need to observe more>

Leng: Earthborn, Asian appearance. Mother still living, speculate father either dead or out of the picture, classic narcissist, low self-confidence, no work ethic>

Shepard: (Yep. He spells it wrong) Colonist. ...>

KA: <....That's all you know about him??  You're losing your touch, Shepherd>

KS: <Lol. No. I just...stumbled on some shit out that was none of my business. Deciding which parts to disseminate and which are need to know>

KA: <Ah. Parse it down. Potential effects on how he interacts with others?>

KS: <Colonists are usually pretty good about unit cohesion. Quite literally work together or die. Likely effects on ability to empathize, either exaggerated or damped. High possibility of PTSD. Need to evaluate for potential triggers that could affect the unit. Farm background, so probably familiar with rural terrain>

KA: <....The hell happened to him?>

KS: <He's from a colony in the Verge. That's all I'll say. Some stories aren't mine to tell.>

KA: <Ah. Stress the unit as a family. See if that helps focus him on binding everyone together. If you can get him to rally them, you won't have to.>

KS: <Another good idea. You might just whip me into a decent leader yet.>

KA: <That should help with Rheinscheld, too. If she's lonely, make her feel included and maybe try to get asshole to pay special attention to her.>

KS: <Y'know, for someone who claims to miss her husband so terribly, she sure does spend a lot of time batting those baby blues at Sheffield and Shepard...>

KA: <Military life is rough. Especially for a civilian spouse>

KS: <Yeah, but it was the military spouse they were supposed to send to ICT, lol>

KA: <Heh. Can't argue that. I meant *with* a civilian spouse. She's there for a reason. Someone saw something in her that made them think she deserves to be there. Find it. Use it>

 

~*~*~*~

 

“I’m going out,” Red announced, fingers plaiting the last of the tight braids against her scalp. If she got paired up against a female, she’d rather not get her hair pulled. Fine during sex; too simple a way to control her head during a fight. Shepard looked up from his reading assignment and took in the sight of her sports bra and tight-fitting athletic pants with a quirked eyebrow.

“Got a hot date tonight or somethin’?”

“Or something,” she said. “Found a club of sorts I want to check out.”

He snorted and went back to his datapad. “The fuck kinda club is that? Can’t be a nightclub or dancin’ or anything.”

“‘The first rule of fight club is: you do not talk about fight club,’” she answered with a grin, tying off her last braid.

That garnered a huff of a laugh. “Why am I not surprised.”  

“You coming, _battle_?” she asked. Technically, they weren’t even supposed to leave the base without each other, so she figured she’d at least ask. If he said no, she’d find a way out without garnering attention. He’d keep his mouth shut. He was a lot of things, but rat wasn’t one of them. She could spot those a kilometer away.

“With such a rousin’ invite as that, how can I refuse,” he deadpanned back, not looking up from the datapad. “What’ll I need to go? I’m assuming mess dress is a bit overkill.”

“Something you can move around in if you’re gonna fight. Jeans and a t-shirt otherwise. You see what I’m wearing.”

He tossed a ‘look’ at her. “...doubt I’ll need a sports bra. But thanks for thinkin’ of me.” He thumbed the datapad off and tossed it on his nightstand, rolling off the bed. “Just add my hoodie; ‘m already in sweats. Nobody to impress, right?”

“Yeah, generally not the dressiest crowd at these things,” she said, collecting her tape and mouthguard along with her water bottle and a few packets of medigel and throwing them into her gym bag.

“Mmkay.” Shepard bent over to tie his trainers. “I will defer to you in fashion.”  

“I do accessorize well. Sparkly collars and all,” she said with a grin. She was still getting a kick out of that one. Asshole adept. The hell of it was, he was probably right and it wasn’t anything she hadn’t already thought of herself. Didn’t matter, though. She was going to kick ass and take names, both tonight and throughout the rest of ICT. Let the brass play their games. She was here to succeed.

“Keep your goddamn glitter to yourself,” he smirked, holding the door open for her, then locking it behind them. “Looks better on you anyhow.”

“Oh, babycakes, you have _no_ idea…”

Their destination was an abandoned-looking warehouse set back from the road and surrounded by a concrete wall topped in shards of broken glass that glittered in the wavering glow of the streetlights. It was no proper Alliance gym to be sure, but it was somewhere she didn’t have to worry about pulling her punches and that’s what she was looking for tonight. That shit with Leng was really starting to piss her off. She’d killed men for less, she reflected as she gave the password to the bouncer at the door. Raised voices and the thudding bass of Latin rock music reverberated through the metal walls. Sounded like a madhouse in there. Just what she was looking for.

Shepard followed her in, a looming shadow behind her. The crowd parted around them and she wasn’t certain if it was people’s customary aversion to getting too close to her or the giant at her back this time. He looked around the building, silently absorbing the scene. If he’d been someplace like this before, she’d be surprised, but he showed no sign of discomfort.

A slippery-looking man holding a datapad took her name and fighting style before assigning her a number in the same bored shout she’d used to relay her information. She wouldn’t know who she was paired against till they called her up. She wended through the boisterous crowd with Shepard at her six, until they reached a spot where she could see the ring. The concrete floor was sticky with gods only knew what. Smoke from a dozen different substances cast a blue haze over the building. The man beside her turned too quickly, his drink sloshing over the rim and almost spattering her. She shoved the drunk aside without looking. Dumbass would be passed out in the street before sunrise.

The ring was set up like a cage with nylon webbing surrounding it. Inside, two men faced each other, jabbing tentatively, testing their opponent. The shorter of the two lashed out with a foot and Shepard muttered something she couldn’t hear and shook his head derisively. She regarded him with a raised brow. “You fight?”

“Trained in kickboxin’. Nothin’ more than a hobby.”

“So, why don’t you sign up? Release some of that pent-up frustration over the damn air conditioner,” she suggested with a smirk.

 _That_ little battle was still ongoing, neither of them willing to bend first. It was a point of pride now, even if the fucking humidity was going to kill her. She’d had to close the windows two days before to keep the rain from soaking her bed, but the jackass had left the air cranked down, so she’d opened them again as soon as the weather cleared. Better muggy than cold. She’d spent far too much of her life trying not to quite literally freeze to death to be willing to deal with it in a space where she should be comfortable. Besides, it was a fun challenge, a battle of wills that _didn’t_ risk unit cohesion.

“No skin off my back if you like the smell of humid army funk. I can just kick it lower, get the AC to dry it out on my side,” he chuckled.

“Fine by me,” she said, trying to hide her grin. “I’m sure I can find a space heater at the BX. Warm it up a little more on my side.”

“Or I could just warp your ass. Save you the money and the trouble.”

“Says the guy with no barrier,” she replied, failing to conceal her amusement. They’d had to list their abilities for the drill instructors and that one had been a shock. What kind of adept didn’t have a damn barrier?

“That’s what shields are for, darlin’...really think I should?” He furrowed his brow, looking at the ring.

“You’re going to start carrying a shield generator everywhere you go just for little old me?” she teased. “Hells yeah, I think you should. C’mon, big guy. Show me whatcha got.”

He scoffed. “You don’t rate high enough for me to give a shit enough. Besides, I don’t have my mouthguard. Or tape.”

“Long as we’re on the same page, babycakes.” She looked around for a vendor. Generally, someone would be hawking supplies for far more than they were worth, but she didn’t see anyone. “I’m sure someone around here has a spare they’d sell you for a couple credits. And I’ve got extra tape.”

“Maybe…” he said distractedly, looking around. “There a time limit on when the last sign up is? If I can get one, I’ll try. No mouthguard, no go, though.”

“Wise,” she said. “As you can see, no holds barred. Only rules are no weapons, no biotics, no killing. This isn’t the Alliance. You should have a few more hours, though. They’ll go either till dawn or the cops come. That blonde guy over there’s gonna be fighting. Maybe he has an extra.”

“Yeah...maybe.  Hm.” He chewed his lower lip a moment. “Lemme see what I can scrounge up. I’m still deciding.”

“Alright, your call.” She dug in her gym bag to double-check that she didn’t have a spare tucked into one of the pockets. “You know, if--hey, where’d you go?” She whipped around, looking for him. He shouldn’t be hard to find. He stood at least a head taller than most people in the building. She caught sight of him near the blonde, holding a beer. Interesting. She weaved through the crowd, trying to get closer. Shepard let himself be pushed into the guy, staggering with the crowd.

“Oh, fuckin’...I’m sorry, man, I didn’t spill anything on you, did I?  Shee- _it_ …”

She blinked. Shepard had a half grin on his face, slouched his shoulders, and thrown an arm around him, acting like he was tipsy and trying to catch his balance, letting his soft drawl play out. The blonde looked a little peeved, stiff under his arm. “No, you didn’t. But get the fuck off me.”

“God, I’m-I’m just so embarrassed about that, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Oh, _fuck_ …” Shepard looked down, a little wrinkle of concern between his brows. “Can you do me a favor and hold this a minute? Gotta tie my shoe. Thanks.” The other man blinked in surprise, suddenly holding the beer as Shepard ducked down. He popped back up after a moment. “Say, thanks again.  You’re bein’ really cool about this whole thing, uh. What’s your name again? I didn’t catch it the first time.”

The beer was back in Shepard’s hand and his head was cocked to the side, hand out in an offer to shake. His easy grin gave him a boyish charm that she hadn’t seen on base before. _Laying it on thick there, eh, Shepard?_ Seemed like an awful lot of work just to buy a mouthguard off the guy.  

“Grant.”

“ _Grant_ …” Shepard grasped his hand and pumped it strongly a few times before letting go.  “Good to meetcha, man. You fightin’ tonight?” Grant nodded. “Awesome. I’ll be bettin’ on you. Don’t let me down.” The blonde scoffed, biting back a smile and Shepard took a sip of his beer.  “So tell me, Grant, you been fightin’ long?”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to her bag. She needed to get ready and this was getting ridiculous. She found the water dispenser and filled her bottle, hoping the shit was actually filtered, and went to find him again, winding the tape around her wrists and knuckles in a practiced motion that didn’t require her full attention. Sure enough, he was right where she left him with the blonde. They both were laughing easily. Shepard tossed back the rest of his beer, crushing the cup in his hand. _It’s just a fucking mouthguard, dude. Cut the foreplay and ask._ She walked up to him, eyebrows raised.

“Say, uh, speak of the little red devil herself. This here is my kid sister, Kate. Kate, meet my buddy Grant here.” Her eyebrows raised to her hairline. _Sister? What the_ absolute _fuck…_ The blonde nodded at her, grinning.  “Maybe you can do me another favor, man.” Shepard touched Grant lightly on his forearm and Red almost choked on air. “We can’t seem to find her mouthguard, and I swear to _god_ we packed it in her bag, but...y’know how it goes, and I noticed you have a spare.” He nodded to a little carry case poking out of Grant’s gym bag. “Any way you could help a brother out? Can’t bring my little sister home missin’ teeth, now, can I?” He touched Grant’s shoulder this time, light and unassuming before throwing that same hand up in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture.

Ah. He wasn’t trying to convince the guy to _sell_ the mouthguard. He wanted it for free. Red narrowed her eyes at Shepard for an instant before sidling in next to him and peering up at him. “C’mon, _Mark_. He doesn’t want to, it’s fine. I can just fight another time. I should’ve paid more attention.”

Grant hesitated, then slowly pulled the case out. “Yeah, sure. I guess…”

Shepard plucked it from his fingers, popping it open to look at it. “You’re the best, man. Just my luck to run into a stand up guy like you.” He snapped the case closed with a grin, head cocked to the side again. “Good luck tonight, we gotta prep. See ya ringside.”

She stepped back and they walked away from Grant, every step dropping the jovial, drunken facade into his usual blank face of practiced nonchalance. “Thanks, _big brother_. You’re the best,” she smirked up at him, grabbing the case from his hand and flipping it in the air twice before tossing it back to him with a sly wink. The ring announcer called out Red versus Delgado. “Wanna be my cornerman?”  Shepard scoffed. 

“Like there was any question?” They stopped by the bookie. “300 creds on...what name did you put down?”  
  
“Red.”

“ _Red_ , huh? Aight. 300 on _Red_.”

“That sure of me, hmm?” she asked, lifting a brow.

“Yuh. I’ll take it outta your hide on the field if you lose. So, y’know. Extra incentive for you to kick some ass.”

“Uh huh. And if I win? What’re you gonna do with it?”

“With what? The money? Or your hide?”

She chuckled. “Oh, that could be a dangerous question. The money, you ass.” Though, she wouldn’t be opposed to him _doing_ things to her ass. She didn’t have to like him to find him attractive and she’d seen him in nothing but a towel enough times this week to have an idea of what she’d be dealing with. The man was built like a damn god. Of course she wanted to hit that.

“Borin’, responsible stuff. Squirrel it away for something worthwhile. Like booze.”

“You at least going to _share_ the booze I’m gonna be buying with my blood and sweat?” she asked, popping a hand towel in his direction before laying it out with her water bottle and a sponge. 

“Pff. Of course. Gotta share the spoils with the show dog for the work put in the ring.” He scooted out of the way of the towel. “ _Hey_ now…”

She shook her head, grinning wryly. “No trust. If I _wanted_ to hit you, I would’ve.”  After a moment’s consideration, she dropped her gym bag on the floor beside the chair.

“Trust you just fine, _babycakes_ , but only certain things can touch my ass. Snapping towels ain’t one of ‘em.”

“Mmhm. Careful, I might think you’re flirting with me.”

“Talk to me after you win us enough to get drunk. Cheap date I am not.”

“You’re biotic. That goes without saying.”

“Yeah, well, I’m also a lot larger than a lot of other people. Already a stacked deck in that regard.”

She ignored him and looked over her gathered supplies to ensure she had everything, checking the ring. Her opponent was across the way, doing the same. Time to focus.

“Was hoping you’d second for me. Inconvenient doing this alone. I’ll get you when you fight.” She fetched her own mouthguard and palmed it, checking the tape on her hands and stretching quickly before they were gestured into the ring.

Red eyed her opponent as she ducked under the section of mesh barrier he raised, slipping her mouthguard over her teeth. The thing she liked about these fights--one of them, anyway--was that there were no weight classes, so she was almost always pitted against people larger than she was. It provided a challenge she didn’t get in the Alliance rings. Delgado didn’t disappoint. He was lean and wiry, but pure, lithe muscle. Quick on his feet, she was willing to bet, and the reptilian gleam in his eye forewarned her that he was going to be mean, too. He either didn’t care that she was female and smaller than he was or considered it a bonus. Good.

The same calm neutrality that had taken her through countless gang fights and legitimate battles descended over her. Her face smoothed out, her focus sharpened. The flooring of the ring gave slightly under her feet as she dodged his first testing jabs, keeping her fists in position to block until he gave her the opening she needed. He was holding back, slowing his movements in an attempt to make her underestimate him.

They circled each other sinuously, cobra against a mongoose, until he finally lashed out. She feinted left, ducking his fist, and threw her weight to the right, feeling his unguarded teeth snap together as her fist made contact with his jaw. He spat a stream of red, his eyes narrowing, and a spurt of satisfaction sang through her. First blood, though by no means the last. This dance was just getting started.

He lunged forward, raining a flurry of blows against her fists, forearms, and the sides of her head. She blocked as well as she could, tucking her head and hunkering down under the onslaught. Let him wear himself down. She watched his feet between her upraised arms and when he stepped out just a bit too far, she hooked hers behind his ankle and gave a swift jerk. He didn’t go down, but he stumbled back, which was enough to allow Red to move in. She ignored the burn in her knuckles as she paid back blow for blow, aiming for the most sensitive parts of his pock-marked face.

He caught her fist as she struck again, tucking it between their bodies out of sight of the spectators and Red froze. _Motherfucking asshole!_ He’d locked her in goddamn stasis! There was little that she hated more than being caught up in it. Dirty, cheap trick. When she got free, she was going to warp his ass. _C’mon, Shepard. Notice something’s wrong and fucking call it._ Stasis didn’t stop her from feeling his fist slam into her face or the hot rush of blood over her eye and cheek as her eyebrow split. Fuck this. She was gonna _kill_ this motherfucker.

“REF, you fuckin’ _blind_?? Christ, man, biotics in play!” Shepard’s voice rang out over the crowd from the corner, annoyed. Thank the gods he still had half a brain and was paying attention.  

Delgado released her and they were waved off to their separate corners. His coach was already waiting with a scowl on his face. Red shook off the stasis and stalked out of the ring. “Thanks,” she said, rubbing her wrist. “Goddamn _hate_ stasis.”

Shepard’s brow was furrowed. “Lemme check your tape. Need water?”

“Tape’s still good. Water would be great. And this blood outta my eye.”

“Was gettin’ to that.” He pursed his lips and dabbed gently at her eyebrow, sponging up the blood. “Open…” Water squirted in her mouth, cool and refreshing.  

“Amps out!” the ref called out.

She popped hers out and slapped it into Mark’s waiting palm, feeling naked. His voice was low and dangerous as he closed his hand around it. “Fuck ‘im up for that shit, huh? He’s a little weak on his lead leg. Git ‘im.”

“Oh, I plan to. He won’t be pulling that shit again any time soon.”

“Ooo-rah.”

She cracked her knuckles and stepped back into the ring. _Cold as Lake Michigan in February, Red. Just another target. No quarter, no mercy. Let him see what happens to a cobra that fucks with a mongoose._ Delgado smirked at her and when he lashed out with his fist, she dove in, aiming for his leg. He jumped back, sliding out of her grasp, and she retreated, resuming her circling.

He kicked out, aiming for her head. She blocked, using his momentum to flip him. He caught himself, but careened into the net. She followed, head tucked against his ribs, and drove her shoulder into his solar plexus to hold him in place as she slammed her fist into his kidney as forcefully as she could given the awkward angle. He’d be pissing blood for a week if she had any say in the matter.

He bent, hooking an arm beneath her knee, and threw her across the ring. She rolled as her back hit the mat and regained her feet, breathing heavily but still game. He charged her with his head down and she braced for the impact, catching his head against her side and tucking her arm beneath his armpit. He pushed against her, attempting to drive her back into the net. She used his extended knee as a step and climbed him, looping a leg around his neck. She threw her weight back, taking them both down to the bloody mat.

He was hers now. On his feet, his height made it more difficult for her to get to everything, but in a grapple, she was deadly. She’d had to learn to be, given that most people’s first thought was to get her to the ground where they could use their weight and size against her more effectively. From here, she could break bones, cut off his air supply, permanently rearrange his face. She captured his head between her thighs in a lock, hooking her feet together, and curled her body up so that she could reach him. She drove her elbows and fists repeatedly into his amp port, ignoring the hand slapping her thigh as she allowed her fury to break free. She’d see him unconscious before she was done. He wouldn’t be using stasis in the ring again, that was for damn sure.

Strong hands hooked under her arms, more grasping her ankles and prying her legs apart as Delgado went limp. She released him and allowed Mark to drag her back. “Ease down, baby, you got ‘im. Fucker deserved every lick he got.”

Red followed him out of the ring, sprawling back in the chair, noting for the first time the bruises and splits in her face, the blood smeared across her skin. Typical for a good fight, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing broken. She pulled the soiled tape off her hands as Mark gently sponged her face again and squirted water into her mouth. She retrieved a cloth and wiped the worst of Delgado’s blood off her belly and legs. She had no open wounds there, so the risk was minimal, but she still didn’t enjoy it.

When she was finished, she tipped her head back, running a hand over her braided hair, and sighed, feeling the tension of the last week finally drain away. Nothing like a little violence to soothe frayed nerves. Kaidan probably wouldn’t have approved, but Delgado knew what he was signing up for. No biotics, no weapons, no fights to the death. Those were the rules. She’d been well within them. Tap-outs only counted if the other person chose to stop. He’d known the job was dangerous when he took it. At least it seemed like Shepard got it.

She eyed him, considering. Maybe he was a little more like her than she’d thought. “About that booze….”

He held out her amp. “Gotta collect the winnin’s first. Want me to seat it or you got it?”

She tipped her head forward and slid the braids aside. “If you don’t mind. You can see it and the adrenaline crash has got my hands shaking.”

“N’aight. Stay still.” Her amp popped home with the customary zing through the back of her teeth that accompanied it. He ran his thumb over it to make sure it fit snugly, then dropped his hand, holding out her water bottle and slinging her bag over his shoulder when she took it.  “Let’s go cash out.”

After the bookie paid out, he called up his omni-tool, brow furrowed. Her own pinged with a notification.

“What’s this?”

“Your cut of the booze money. Don’t say I never gave you nothin’.”

She looked at her message: 150 credit transfer. Huh.

An hour later, she watched Shepard tape his fists in preparation for his fight. _He has good hands...and where the hell did that come from?_ She gave an imperceptible shake of her head. It was just proximity to an admittedly remarkable shirtless male specimen when she hadn’t gotten laid since leaving Vancouver and Kaidan. And they _were_ objectively good hands. Large, long fingers, calluses in all the right places to comfortably hold a rifle, weapons in their own right. Like hers.

He’d surprised her a couple times today, not just by sharing his winnings. Kaidan’s likely reaction to her fight was what she would expect from most people, even soldiers. Disappointment, dismay, censure, even a little fear. Those were normal. His approval of it was anomalous. Not many people out there were willing to step in and get close to her when she let herself out of her carefully crafted cage.

She snorted and gestured with her head when she saw his opponent begin to set up across the ring.  Shepard looked up and tossed a glance over his shoulder, smirking when he saw who it was. The blonde guy he’d conned the mouthguard out of did a double-take at the sight of them. She hadn’t paid much attention to him before. The dude was built like a brick shithouse. Shepard was freakishly tall, probably a good four inches above six feet, and sturdily built while the other guy was shorter, but the blonde--Grant, she thought he’d said--was a fucking boulder. She wondered if someone had spliced krogan DNA into him. This was going to be interesting if nothing else. She was pretty sure she had enough medigel with her. Shepard didn’t look fazed. He smirked as he popped the mouthguard in and stepped calmly into the ring.   

The two men touched fists for half a breath before circling for a moment with their hands raised. Shepard didn’t waste time with experimental jabs. His blue eyes were fastened sharply on his target, noting each shift of weight and moving to counter before it was fully executed. Red crossed her arms over her chest and kicked back on her heel. People in the crowd jeered and Grant scowled, but Red waited patiently. He wasn’t moving much now, but she’d put good money on the fight being over fast once he did.

Grant, she noted, had a tendency to forget that he had both hands and feet and could work them at the same time. He struck out with a foot, aiming for Shepard’s solar plexus, and his fists separated enough to leave his face completely unguarded. Shepard blocked, the corner of his mouth tightening slightly. She had to hand it to him. He hadn’t attempted a single blow yet and the fight was already over. Grant just didn’t know it yet.

The blonde brought his knee up, driving it into Shepard’s side. He absorbed the blow, choosing instead to finally strike. For such a big guy, he was _fast_. He didn’t hold back any more than she did, his fists raining a flurry of blows that left Grant staggered long enough for Shepard to take a step back and land a solid kick to the side of Grant’s head. The burly man stumbled, dazed, but didn’t go down. _Gonna take more than that, Shepard. Put some weight behind it._ Shepard simply nodded to himself as if he’d been expecting that.

Grant shook his head to clear it and countered. Almost feral satisfaction radiated off Shepard as they finally traded blow-for-blow. Physically, they were pretty evenly matched, Grant’s bulk making up for his lack of height, but Shepard was smart and cunning. He didn’t swing unless he knew it was going to land where he wanted it and when he did, her eyes could barely track his motion, the speed not minimizing the force with which his fists crashed into the man’s face. She understood now why he hadn’t been fazed by her. He was just as brutal as she was. They brought to mind a pair of stags locking horns when they caught each other by the fists, their bare chests pressed together like lovers. She barked a laugh as Shepard drew his head back and _slammed_ his forehead into the blonde’s. Wouldn’t fly in a sanctioned fight, she was sure, but here, all bets were off.

The blow knocked Grant back a few staggering steps, enough to allow Shepard to collect himself like a wolf moving in for the kill. She leaned forward, eagerly holding her breath, eyes locked on her battle buddy and a grin toying at her lips. He took two long strides and drew himself into the air, both feet lashing out and ramming into Grant’s chest. Shepard fell to the mat and rolled as the blonde flew into the net, his body limp but still semi-conscious. _Fucking beautiful. Now finish it_ , she urged.

As if he’d heard her, he leapt again, twisting his body in the air like a gymnast, one leg providing counterweight as the other foot forcefully shot out and snapped Grant’s head to the side. Where the hell had he learned to do a tornado kick? That was an MMA move, something she herself would do when her opponent was within her reach, not a kickboxing one. This time, he caught himself, turning to watch the other man fall heavily to the mat, down for the count. Shepard circled the blonde heap, watching for any kind of movement. The ref counted it out and called the fight. She should have found the damn bookie herself.

Red met him outside the ring with a water bottle in one hand and the other extended for a high five. “Uuuup top!” she exclaimed. He scoffed and looked at her incredulously.  

“You serious?”

“As a damn heart attack.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, exasperated smile on his lips as he held his hand up.  “You’re a dork.”

“ _Hells_ yes…”   

She smacked her palm to his, grinning. He sat down in the chair, half-slouched and leaning back, and allowed her to blot the blood away from his face with a wet sponge as he drank from the bottle. She held up a packet of medigel. “Want me to do it?” she asked. He was tolerating her hand over the sponge, but given his reaction to her just touching his shoulder that first day, she doubted he’d appreciate her hands on his face any more than she would his on hers.

His long fingers closed around the packet, slipping it from between hers. “I got it. Thanks,” he replied quietly, looking at the blonde being hauled up to a sitting position. “Guess it was a damn good thing I didn’t actually bet on him, huh?”

She chuckled. “Yep. Throw the fight for the money or win and lose it? ...Lose the money. No question.”

“Yeah, no way I’d lay down for that shit. Especially for that teeny amount.” He tugged his hoodie on, wincing as it brushed over his head. “Probably be feelin’ this the next few days. Is this somethin’ you do on the regular?”

“When I need to release pent-up shit, yeah. Sanctioned fights have too many restrictions. Need to just let it out sometimes, y’know? And this fucking week was a pain in the ass. It was this or bash Leng in the head with an oar.”

“That works. Most people just take care of it in the shower, though.”

She was _not_ discussing her sex life--or current lack of one--with him. She smirked instead. “ _That’s_ why there’s never any hot water left when you get done… Whatever flies your starship, dude.”

“Note how I’m usually done in five minutes or less. That’s not even enough time to take a decent shit. I call bullshit on the hot water, or lack thereof.” He heaved himself out of the chair. “Anything else you gotta do or can we bounce, _little sister_?”

“Think we’re done here, _big brother_ ,” she said, shaking her head and fighting a grin. “That was clever. Pull that manipulative shit with me, though, and I’ll have your ass.”  He gave an abrupt laugh and nudged her with his elbow.

“You would be so lucky.”

“Pssht. You wish.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

<Chat Request>

<to: kyalenko@alliance.xnet>

<from: krshepherd@alliance.xnet>

KS: <What are the odds the person in charge was drunk or playing a practical joke?>

KA: <You still talking about Rheinscheld?>

KS: <Yeah>

KA: <Do you want the truth or the party line?>

KS: <Truth. Always.>

KA: <I'd lean towards drunk. Seriously, though, N1 is just the first step. There's a reason your class size is so large now and will be so small once you graduate. Not everyone has the same skill level, but they have potential. Make her believe in it>

KS: <Hmm...sounds familiar. Is this what you go through every cycle?>

KA: <Yep. Class in 10.  I need to go. But it was good to talk to you again>

KS: <You, too. Miss you. Thanks, K. I needed this. Feels very alone here. Not used to that being a bad thing.>

KA: <I miss you, too. Look to your team and keep me posted.  I'll be interested to see how it turns out>

KS: <I'll let you know. Unless I kill Leng. Then I'll grant you plausible deniability. >

KA: <You can't see it, but I'm shaking my head. Still proud of you, Shepherd>

KS: <Thanks, amante. Good luck with your own brood>

KA: <....*Amante* again, hmm?  I think I might like the sound of that. What's it mean?>

KS: <Lover. You can't see it, but I'm grinning. And now Shepard's looking at me like I sprouted a second head...>

KA: <So am I.  Okay. I really need to go. If he gives you grief, I might have to visit>

KS: <In that case, he's giving me tons of it>

KA: <Smooth. See ya>

KS: <Bye, baby>

 

~*~*~*~

 

“You are all familiar with the Mark 14 grenade,” Kirkland said, “so I do not anticipate having to explain it to you. However, what most of you will not have been introduced to are the upgradable capabilities of it. High explosives, flashbangs, thermite paste, charged particle proton charges, Bose-Einstein condensates--commonly referred to as ‘cryo’ rounds when applied to small arms, cobalt-salted micro-nukes, and more will be available to you _if_ you complete my training. Today, we will be working with _high explosives_. On the tables in front of you is everything you need to convert your grenade…”

Red stood at the table under the pavilion with Shepard to her right and Sheffield and Leng to her left. The other four members of her boat crew were across from them. Perspiration dripped down the back of her neck as she listened to the instructor describe the process of converting the grenades. They followed along with his demonstration, some more quickly than others. Bertram fumbled hers, dropping it on the table.

“And _that_ , cadets, is why we don’t start with inferno grenades,” Torres announced. “If we did, Boat Crew Three would be _dead_. Boat Crews One and Two would be _on fire_. Bertram, you need to go wash the butter off your hands?”

“Ma’am, no, ma’am.”

“Then _pay attention_ , cadet,” she snapped. “Take two seconds, step back, and pop your fucking head out of your asshole. You’d better get unfucked quick, fast, and in a goddamn hurry. My granny could do this better than you and she’s been dead for ten years!”

“Aye aye, ma’am,” Bertram said.

Red raised a brow at Shepard and went back to work on her own grenade. To her other side, Sheffield was still occupied with his grenade, long fingers almost delicate as they worked on the mod. He glanced at her and she smirked, her hands working just a bit faster. Sheffield’s similarly sped up, an answering smirk on his face. Shepard huffed, but Red ignored him, galvanized by the challenge. They placed their grenades on the table at the same time, reaching for another. Shepard was only a few seconds behind them, pursing his lips and shaking his head.

“Step back from the tables,” Moreno, another instructor, ordered. Small and tawny, even-tempered, he’d swiftly become one of Red’s favorites. The unofficial race ended in a tie and she stepped back with a small, disappointed sigh. Moreno directed them to take the modified grenades to the foxholes at the near end of the range. She and Shepard stepped down into theirs, moving around each other with the same ease they’d developed during surf passage while they arranged the grenades in the provided box. Despite their momentary camaraderie at the fight, they’d gone back to their typical reserve with each other once they’d returned to base.

Shepard stepped forward, setting the ten second timer and extended his arm back, counting silently. To their right, Alphabet did the same, his stance that of an experienced pitcher. Rheinscheld on their left took position, glancing at Kirkland for confirmation. He nodded in approval and she beamed. Simultaneously, they threw the grenades, ducking back behind the barricade. Red covered her ears with her fingers and they both peered over the top, watching the resulting explosions send plumes of dirt, flame, and smoke soaring into the air.

“ _Hells_ yes,” Red muttered.

She plucked one of her grenades from the box and waited for the order. Bertram took Rheinscheld’s place and Jones took Alphabet’s. When it came, she set the timer and drew her hand back, copying Alphabet’s earlier stance. She wasn’t much of a pitcher, but she was determined to hit at least as close to the target as Shepard had and that meant she needed form to overcome brute strength. _Seven, six, five, four._ She threw the grenade...  

“ _Take cover!_ ”  

...and promptly found herself facedown in the dirt with a large, heavy body pressed against her back. Her barrier flared instinctively, wrapping around them both. Shepard had barreled into her, pinning her underneath him. Dude was fucking _heavy_. She gasped in an uneven breath, struggling to remind her lungs how to work again. She had a sudden idea of what it must feel like to be on the receiving end of her charge.

The rapid-fire series of explosions that followed an instant later hammered her barrier with dirt, rocks, and bits of shrapnel. The booms and resulting rush of her pulse filled her ears and covered the shouts that she knew must be coming from the instructors and other students. Flame rolled over the top of the foxhole and acrid smoke followed. Shepard pressed her deeper into the dirt, flattening his back to avoid the fire that must have been licking at his ass.

He had her head cradled in his arm under his solid chest, his chin resting on top of her head. His body curled over hers, fitting her tightly against him. In other circumstances, the position could have been a lot of fun. He, apparently, had a similar thought because with her ass this tight against his groin, there was no mistaking the physical effects it was having. She huffed a laugh against the dirt. Biology created some _strange_ situations in the field sometimes.

When the smoke cleared, he finally shifted and she looked around to find a winded Kirkland standing over Bertram and Rheinscheld’s prone forms, their hands covering their heads and a shimmering biotic bubble surrounding them. Alive, then. Their ordinance pail was nowhere to be found, a deep blackened scorch marking the place where it had been. Butterfingers had dropped her damn grenade in the goddamn pail and set off the others. They were lucky Kirkland had apparently moved so quickly. Red mist was all they’d have been if they’d been standing in the foxhole when they went off.

She smirked over at Shepard. “Aw, babycakes. Didn’t realize you cared so much. Heart you, too.”

“Wouldn’t do to have the brass’ show dog be road kill,” he snarked, eyes sparkling mischievously as he dusted off his fatigues. “Wouldn’t look good on my record.”

“Woof woof, bitch,” she replied with a grin.  He snorted, grinning back.

“There’s hope for you yet.”

“Boat crews, report!” Torres shouted.

Red stood, counting her guys. “Boat crew three, present and accounted for, ma’am,” she responded. “No visible injuries.” The other team leads chimed in, giving the same report. Kirkland ordered Bertram and Rheinscheld to sick call for examination and the rest of them to return to their posts. Red shook her head. Between those two and Leng, the odds of this crew ever becoming functional were looking slimmer by the day.

She glanced at Shepard from the corner of her eye as he selected another grenade. His hands were as steady as hers, his face unconcerned as he went to the barricade and primed his next throw. If not for the dirt ground into the fabric of their BDUs, they were none the worse for wear and she doubted anyone looking at them would have been able to guess that they’d just been less than ten feet from death.

Two hours later, they trudged into the smoker’s pit outside the barracks for a few moments’ break before chow. She took up her customary place against the low wall surrounding the pit and tipped her head back to look at the setting sun. What a _long_ fucking day. Grenade training had actually been a bit of a break, but low-grade exhaustion had become a constant state for all of them by now.

Shepard was lying on his usual bench, one knee bent and the other leg dangling as much as it could over the side, cig burning between his fingers resting on his belly again. Still a fucking waste, but she got it. If you wanted a break, you smoked. If you didn’t smoke, your ass kept working. Because setting soldiers up for addiction was a great tactic. Military logic at its finest.  This time, he actually brought it up to his lips and took a drag, letting the smoke drift out of his nostrils. He rolled his head to the side and looked at her, then tossed his pack on the other bench between them. Huh. Maybe he’d been more affected by the events on the range than he’d let on. She plucked a cigarette out and lit it before tossing the pack and lighter back to him.     

 _That_ was the real surprise of the day. She’d been sure when the shit hit the fan, he’d take care of himself and leave her to the wolves, but he’d reacted even faster than she could, shielding her with his body even though he lacked barriers to protect himself. Typically, she’d wonder what he wanted or if it was simply quid pro quo for dealing with Leng the other day, but there hadn’t been time for calculation in the move. He’d reacted on instinct rather than calm deliberation. And that instinct had been to have her back. Maybe he wasn’t a worthless battle buddy after all. Still an ass, but maybe, just maybe, one she could rely on.


	4. Dichotomy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Dichotomies are most mischevious when they arbitrarily separate parts of a highly interrelated and complex system.”_  
>  ~ David W. Ehrenfeld

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the impromptu break, but we had a bunch of real life crap descend on us all at once in addition to discovering a problem with the Kaidan/his background and further planned stories, so we went back and revamped it. New story, _[Red and Blue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13566372/chapters/31133700)_ , is now in the line-up and it replaces Red Letter Day. That story is still listed (because god _damn_ was it a good one, hehehe), but as a stand alone. 
> 
> SO!
> 
> Our apologies for the delay, and we hope you enjoy the new story and the new chapter. Thanks for stickin' with us so far. ~ Kate_Shepard and potionsmaster
> 
> PS. Now with art

**_Unbreakable_** , by Kate_Shepard and potionsmaster

 

Rating: E for sex, drugs, rock n’ roll, and country.  Otherwise known as ‘Violence out the wazoo’ and actual country.  (Country needs a warning label.)  Heed the warnings and tags, kiddies.  It ain’t pretty.

 

 **Chapter 4:**   _Dichotomy_

 

~*~*~*~

 

The darkness was almost comfortable: cool enough so Mark didn’t absolutely die of heat stroke while sleeping, but not so much that his feet got cold.  Not like it mattered so much if they did; he’d just shove them under the blankets and that was that.  He rolled on his side, his back to Shepherd, and activated his omni-tool to check the time, hoping the glow wouldn’t disturb her.  0432.  Plenty of time to get up and prepare for the exhaustion.  Torres in particular was taking sadistic pleasure in ripping him a new one every chance she got, even had gone so far as to say her balls were bigger and that’s why they were on her chest, not in her pants.  It _would_ have been funny if he wasn’t so pissed off already with no possibility of outright retaliation.  He had no idea why she zeroed in on him specifically, but it could always be worse.

Birds chirped outside, much louder than they should have been allowed to be that early in the morning, and he suppressed a flash of annoyance.  Dank and muggy air hung over her side of the room and seeped to his because of the damn windows being open.  It was two fuckin’ degrees difference.  If she couldn’t see the numbers on the thermostat, he doubted she’d even be aware of it.  The way she acted it was like she thought they’d be blocks of ice in the morning.  There was no physical way that would have been possible.  Strange.  Whatever.  She was a tiny little thing; even the girls back home had always seemed cold in the middle of the growing seasons.  

He rolled out of bed as quietly as he could and gathered his clothes.  After a moment’s deliberation, he dropped his pajama pants and got dressed in the dark, keeping his back to her.  No sense wasting more minutes hiding in the bathroom when she was asleep and it was still practically pitch black in the room.  Besides, if she’d been in the military this long and hadn’t seen a bare ass before now, that was more of a personal problem than he knew how to deal with.  

A rustle came from her side of the room and he paused.   Perhaps he should have changed in the bathroom after all.  No other noise made itself known and he exhaled slowly.  It wouldn’t change anything between them even if she did see him naked.  No matter.  He grabbed his datapad and made his way down to the day room.  Any time he could get his reading in for the classroom shit, he would.  But he also knew that waking his battle buddy up before she absolutely needed to get her ass out of bed was a lesson in small, angry human that he just didn’t want to deal with.  He flopped on the couch and threw a leg over the back, holding the datapad over his face.  Might as well be comfortable.

Twenty minutes later, more people were moving around the room and he sat up, sighing.  0509.   _Shepherd better get her ass up if she doesn’t want to run any more extra miles._  He already knew Torres was going to find something to make him backtrack with her and sprint to make up the difference.  Bleary-eyed soldiers started filing out of their rooms while he walked back to his and quietly pushed open the door.  Thank god the light was on.  He tossed his datapad on the desk and grabbed his toothbrush, heading to their shared bathroom.  The door opened and she ran headfirst into his chest, dressed in her shorts and a sports bra, PT shirt draped over a shoulder.

“ _Unf_ ,” he grunted as they both staggered back a step.  She had her nose buried in her omni-tool  “Watch where you’re goin’.”

“Pff.  You make a better door than window,” she fired back, busying herself with her omni-tool again.  He snorted and didn’t bother closing the door to brush his teeth, wiping the sink afterward.  

“Ready for mindless sweating?” he asked, holding the door open for her.  She smiled down at her omni-tool as they walked, eyes bright.

“Oh, yeah. Let’s roll,” she answered absently without looking up.  He snorted again.  Perfect set up and she let it fly right over her head. Ah well.  She tapped out a few keys on her ‘tool and bit back a laugh, freckles standing out against the pink of her cheeks.

"That your beau?"

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Uh huh.  That why you’re blushin’ so hard?”

“I’m not blushing. It’s hot out.”

He furrowed his brow at that.  “Yeah.  _Sure_.  Humid, I’ll give you.”  Color slowly filtered over her nose again, popping the freckles out again.  “Quit sexting.  Too early in the morning for that shit.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Not sexting, either. You’re awfully concerned with who I’m talking to. Trying to find out if I’m available, mShep?” she smirked.

“Naw, I don’t mess with squaddies.  Never seen you act like that before is all.  Easy target.”

“Whatever you say, Shepard. It’s just a friend.”

There was no time to respond as they fell into formation and parade rest.  Kirkland, Torres, and Moreno were already pacing the lines.  Torres’ beady little eyes snapped onto him and he held in a sigh.   _So it begins_.

 

~*~*~*~

 

One thing Mark could say with certainty is that he never experienced the ocean before joining the military.  The first time he saw it on Earth, it had stopped him in his tracks; holos and vids never truly did it justice.  The line of swells breaking along the sandy shore, the sun sparkling over the unending surface of the deep blues and greens...and how _big_ it was, disappearing into the curved horizon, as far as he could see.  No wonder so many people tried to capture it in photos and paintings or drawings.  

The smell, however, was one he could do without.  The briny tang coated his tongue and was nasty and thick to swallow in the humidity.  Dead fish and other ocean life wasn’t particularly pleasant when mixed with kelp and seaweed baking in the sun, either.  It washed over base when there was a stiff breeze and there was no escaping it. _Especially_ when Shepherd insisted on keeping the goddamn windows open at night.  Nope.  The only saving grace was that he was as used to it as he was going to get now that they were actually in the water and trying to keep their zodiac from capsizing.  He’d swallowed so much seawater, he was surprised he didn’t develop a bilge pump.  There was probably an omni-tool app for that.   _You have ingested 32.4 fl oz of ocean water.  Induce vomiting_.   

“Go, go, _go!_ ”

They broke into a run and splashed through the surf to deeper water, until the bottom of the inflatable craft didn’t catch.  He rolled over the side of the boat like they had countless times earlier and scanned the seats.  One was missing.   _Shepherd_.  A quick glance to his right showed her bright red life jacket still in the water.  Short legs did not do her any favors here, that was for damn certain.  He plunged his hand into the water and gave her a boost, dumping her unceremoniously at his feet.  Her scowl matched his own.

“Hop to it,” he muttered, trying not to smirk.  He was certain she’d have to help him out at some point during this whole brouhaha and didn’t want to rub it in her face.  She was already bristling at Torres calling her Lt Stubby Legs and making them do extra running.  He still had to sleep in the same room with her; no sense poking the tiny bear.  Neither of them really talked to the other unless they had to coordinate when they were going to the smoke pit or chow hall.  Small talk was blessedly absent.  Hell, the most they’d actually spoken had been the argument over the stupid air conditioner.  He grabbed an oar and shoved it into the water as fast as he could to stabilize the craft.

“Stroke! Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!” Shepherd called out, strong and sure. He rolled his lips inwards, trying not to laugh.  Another perfect joke set up.

“Don’t. Even. Think. About it. She _pard_.”

He actually did chuckle to himself then. Guess some things came across when they were up each other’s asses 24/7 even when they didn’t speak.  Alphabet in front of him also snorted.  Now _there_ was an alright dude.  When he’d been introduced to the group, he tried his damndest to get people to pronounce his last name right, but didn’t seem particularly perturbed when hardly anybody could. _Preece-MAH-trivet_.  He rolled the phonetics around in his head, memorizing them.  What a bloody fuckin’ mouthful.

“You can just call me ‘Alphabet’, though, everybody else does,” he had said, barest hint of a Russian accent coloring his voice.  It suited him, giving him that mysterious, dark aura that was almost guaranteed to get people lining up and drooling after him.  Mark wouldn’t say he was _drooling_ , per se, but the view in front of him was infinitely better than it could have been.  He filed that little tidbit away with the pronunciation, as well.  Maybe he could use it to lean on him if he needed to, give him a shortcut ‘pass go’ card.  Growing up in non-English speaking homes was not necessarily uncommon, but it was enough to give him something that set the two of them apart from most of the rest of the group.

“Keep your oars in the water!” Shepherd barked out, no doubt as a blanket reminder but pointed at Blondie.  She’d managed to let her oar breach and a swell had caught it and thrown it back, catching Alphabet full on in the face and breaking his nose.  They all managed to do so this time, riding the crest of the wave.  His stomach dropped with the motion.  If they never did anything else in a boat the rest of ICT, it would be too much.  Ocean water did not sit well in his belly.  He shot a glance over to Sheffield as they rode it down.  God love him, the man was still functioning.  At least Mark wasn’t aquaphobic like his doppleganger was.  He had to hand it to him; he was still in his seat and still getting it done, regardless of how much he probably wanted to bolt.  A bigger wave started washing towards them and he turned his attention back to his own oar.

“Shepard, _duck!_ ”

He immediately dropped his head forward between his knees and found himself buried face-first in Alphabet’s ass.  Not exactly how he pictured first getting to know the guy.  “-the _fuck_?” the other man exclaimed, trying not to twist around and keep control of his oar.  Mark turned his head in time to see Sheffield knock Kai Leng’s oar out of the way and then the upsurge of water kicked them all backwards into the water. _What the fuckin’ fuck indeed_.

Water rushed painfully up his nose as he kicked hard for the surface.  Fuck. That. Shit.  He breached with a spluttering cough, scanning the water.  The damn inflatable was upside down.  Alphabet was bobbing a few feet away from him and caught his eye, nodding towards it.  A few strokes and they grabbed it, Blondie and her battle buddy on the other side of it.  They all flipped it and rolled back in over the side.  Fuckin’ Leng.  That asshole was _begging_ to be invited to a goddamn slock party in his honor.  Alphabet thrust his oar at him before sticking his own back in the water.

“You know, most people buy me dinner first,” he grinned.  Mark chuckled.  

“Chow’s at 7.  We can share a dessert if you really want.”   Alphabet snorted and settled into his spot again.

“I think I’m good.”

Mark only half-heard him; Sheffield was back in the boat and he looked shaken again.  Fuck.  Shepherd was in Leng’s spot, though, and she looked _pissed_ as she leaned over the side.  She thrust a hand out behind her and he didn’t even think twice; he smacked his oar in her hand and got a different one.  Looked like small, angry human was on the docket today no matter what.  At least he wasn’t on the receiving end of it.  She got right in Leng’s face, much to his annoyed amusement.

He glanced at Sheffield again, trying to assess.  The whole boat crew was one big mashup of people who either wouldn’t or couldn’t get it together.  And one of the only ones who actually _was capable_ of being able to do so was fuckin’ terrified of water.  Who knew where the breaking point was?

Shepherd’s voice was carefully devoid of any emotion, words falling flat around them. “You know, there are so many ways a person can get injured or even killed out here.  So many unfortunate accidents can happen in the water, away from shore.  And it would be terribly sad if one were to happen to you, but we can always replace you.  Sheffield could find a new buddy; couldn’t you, Sheffield?”

His not-quite-lookalike managed to get it together enough to stop shaking, but he didn’t look at them.

“Plenty of fish in the sea, right? Especially with people dropping left and right.”

He couldn’t hear Leng’s sneered response, but he could hazard a guess.

“To what?” she asked. “I’m just warning you about the dangers of open water.  I’m sure if anything were to happen to you, it would be an unfortunate accident. Right, guys?”

 _Huh_.  Some of the polish was starting to tarnish on her shiny collar.   _Interesting_.  He didn’t think she had it in her, truth be told.  He leaned forward, paying more attention.

“Yuh,” he agreed.

“Oh, yeah. Tragic, really,” Alphabet said.  There was a thinly veiled sarcastic tone that only increased his accent.  The rest of the boat chimed in with their affirmations.  Shepherd’s tone became positively frigid then.

“So, Leng. Seems you have a decision to make. Get your shit squared away and stop causing problems or the next time you cause an ‘accident’, we’ll ‘accidentally’ end up towing your body back to shore behind the zodiac. _Kapisch_?”  Once again, Leng’s snarled retort was lost to the sound of ocean waves.  This whole thing was just too much; the runt of the group was the one with the most vicious bark so far.  She reached out, grasping the front of his life jacket, and hauled him up, bringing his ear to her lips. “Don’t fuck with my battle buddy, Leng.” She dropped him face-first into the water at her feet and resumed her place at the back, face blank and expression dead.  

“Aw, cupcake, didn’t realize you cared so much,” he said with a smirk. “Heart you, too.”

“Don’t want to have to find someone who folds their towels right,” she said, replacing her oar in the water as they turned to shore.  He shook his head; this whole ride just got a lot more interesting.  And the most interesting thing about it apparently had his six.  Go figure.

 

~*~*~*~

 

The weekend arrived none too soon.  The activities of the day didn’t exactly exhaust him all the way down, but he was looking forward to not having a damn thing to do all day tomorrow.  Sundays were their own, no PT, no classroom shit, no nothin’.  He fully intended to take advantage of that little fact.  Tonight, however, he still designated to reading assignments on his bed until he passed out.  Nothing like a little light and dry as toast reading material to set the proper mood.

“I’m going out,” she announced to the room.  He looked up from his datapad and quirked an eyebrow: sports bra, braids, and athletic pants molded to her legs.   _Interesting_.

“Got a hot date tonight or somethin’?”

“Or something,” she replied, not taking the bait.  Not like it was a really strong attempt.  He was too tired to put much effort into getting a rise out of her at the moment.  “Found a club of sorts I want to check out.”

He snorted and went back to his reading; she looked like she was going to the gym. “The fuck kinda club is that?  Can’t be a nightclub or dancin’ or anything.”

“The first rule of fight club is: you do not talk about fight club.”  

He snorted again.  “Why’m I not surprised.”  That collar was looking more like costume jewelry every day; no way in hell she was at all what she presented to the rest of the world at this point.  That little stunt with Leng pretty much solidified she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing and he’d have to be a bit more attentive.   _Hero of the Blitz my fuckin’ ass.  Stone cold killer, more like._  She probably _liked_ the killing field and opportunity to let loose, rip the enemy to shreds.  As long as she didn’t set her irons on him, no skin off his back.  

“You coming, _battle_?” she asked. It was clear she was going whether he was or not, even though they weren’t supposed to leave base without each other.  Curiouser and curiouser.  He kept scanning the same paragraph over and over, unable to focus.

“With such a rousin’ invite as that, how can I refuse.  What’ll I need to go?  I’m assuming mess dress is a bit overkill.”

“Something you can move around in if you’re going to fight.” _Now there’s an idea._ “Jeans and a t-shirt otherwise.  You see what I’m wearing.”

He tossed her a ‘look’.  Oh, he saw what she was wearing, alright.  Kinda hard to miss her compact, muscular body in that get up.  He half-wondered if she was trying to impress him, but quickly discarded that thought.  They were here for training, nothing more.  Everybody here was honed down to lean and mean.  The braids were pretty interesting, though.  Never considered her to wear them.  They were kinda cool the way they swung around when she moved, dancing along her neck and back.  Coiled flames.

“...doubt I’ll need a sports bra. But thanks for thinking of me.”  He shut his datapad off and tossed it on his nightstand, rolling off the bed and grabbing his sweatshirt still draped over his headboard.  “Just add my hoodie; ‘m already in sweats.  Nobody to impress, right?”

“Yeah, generally not the dressiest crowd at these things.”  He could only imagine the black-tie function an underground fight would be.  And Torres called _him_ Captain Obvious? He chose not to snap back; no point.  They weren’t fighting.  And this was an opportunity for him to see her beyond the sparkly collar the brass put on.  Curiosity wasn’t a virtue where he was concerned.

“Mmkay.  I will defer to you in fashion.” He straightened up from tying his shoes to see her waiting with her bag over her shoulder and a glint in her eye.

“I do accessorize well.  Sparkly collars and all.”  The grin on her face seemed genuine.   _Huh.  Well, alright then.  What is this, joking?_ He smirked and held the door open, gesturing her through before locking it behind them.

“Keep your goddamn glitter to yourself,” he griped good-naturedly as he followed her and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He could do jokes.  Now if only she would close the goddamn windows when they bedded down, they could almost be friends. “Looks better on you anyhow.”

“Oh, babycakes, you have _no_ idea…”

That made him pause mentally again.  Shit, he hoped that didn’t come across as flirting.   _Not_ what he was after here.  It happened, everybody knew it happened on base, but it could get complicated real fast if a pair had a fight and let it carry over.  If he had an ‘itch’ he needed ‘scratched’, he’d just go out and haunt the bars and clubs.  And maybe try to leave her behind so she didn’t give his targets the wrong idea.  He didn’t think she’d say anything if he snuck out without her.  

The dilapidated warehouse she led him to was typical to what one would expect it to look like: broken glass and stained concrete, a monster laying in wait in the night. Heavy Latin bass thumped as they approached, pounding in his very bones when they crossed the threshold and into the crush of people.  He kept to her six, craning his head around and taking in the view.  About what he expected, truth be told.  Shabby but serviceable ring with netting and two guys taking swats at each other.  The shorter one lashed out with a foot and Mark shook his head, muttering to himself.  “That was stupid; you over-stepped out and opened yourself up, you short shit. He’s got you on reach.”

Shepherd turned away from a greasy man with a datapad and raised an eyebrow at him.  “You fight?”

“Trained in kickboxin’.  Nothin’ more than a hobby.”  Not something he ever really felt the need to bring up, but if they ever did wind up going to the gym together, she’d find out anyway.  The eyebrow raised a little higher, dragging a smirk with it.

“So, why don’t you sign up?” she nodded to the greasy man, “Release some of that pent-up frustration over the damn air conditioner.”

Still crackin’ jokes.  He wasn’t sure how to take this new-found camaraderie, but it was nice to not be constantly bristling at each other over pedantic shit.  At least she found it as ridiculous as he did.  On the surface, anyway.  Too bad for her he was stubborn as an ox knee-deep in mud.  ‘Adapt and overcome’, as they were constantly reminded.  He intended to do just that in all things, on the field and off.  But he’d make sure she adapted first.  It had rained a couple of days ago and she’d been forced to close the windows.  He thought that might have been the end of it and was going to kick up the thermostat once the humidity actually cleared out, but the second it died down, she popped them open again and he just couldn’t in good conscience let her win that easy.  Hell naw.  

“No skin off my back if you like the smell of humid army funk. I can just kick it lower, get the AC to dry it out on my side,” he chuckled.

“Fine by me,” she said. She failed at trying to hide her grin. It surprised him how easy it was to give one back. “I’m sure I can find a space heater at the BX. Warm it up a little more on my side.”

“Or I could just warp your ass. Save you the money and the trouble.”

“Says the guy with no barrier,” she replied, still amused. She had yet to stop ribbing him about that little fact, ever since they had to submit a list of abilities to the DIs.  He had tried to use them, but they just didn’t work with how aggressive he was on attacking; they hampered his cooldown rate to the point where he needed to rely on other biotics to detonate his primes and that was just unacceptable.  After a box full of fried amps and getting his nose cauterized from the nosebleeds, his biotic instructor finally admitted defeat and told him not to bother with them anymore.

“That’s what shields are for, darlin’...really think I should?” He furrowed his brow, looking at the ring.  Short stack had lost the fight.  Dumbass.

“You’re going to start carrying a shield generator everywhere you go just for little old me?” she teased, poking him lightly in the stomach with the corner of her bag. “Hells yeah, I think you should. C’mon, big guy. Show me whatcha got.”

He scoffed and twitched at the contact. “You don’t rate high enough for me to give a shit enough. Besides, I don’t have my mouthguard. Or tape.”  If he did, he’d be fighting in his sweatpants anyway; he didn’t have anything but boxer-briefs on under them and no way in hell was he fighting in his skivvies.  Still, though.  It’d be nice to cut loose a bit.

“Long as we’re on the same page, babycakes.” She looked around. “I’m sure someone around here has a spare they’d sell you for a couple credits. And I’ve got extra tape.”

“Maybe…” he said distractedly, looking around himself. “There a time limit on when the last sign up is? If I can get one, I’ll try. No mouthguard, no go, though.”

“Wise,” she said. “As you can see, no holds barred.” _Where’s Torres when you need her...ahoy, Cap’n_.  “Only rules are no weapons, no biotics, no killing. This isn’t the Alliance. You should have a few more hours, though. They’ll go either till dawn or the cops come. That blonde guy over there’s gonna be fighting. Maybe he has an extra.”   _If this were the Alliance, there would be a much different set of medals people would be awarded._  It was interesting how much she was stressing it not being military or to any recognized sporting event.  If the location didn’t give it away, the fighting itself did. 

“Yeah...maybe.  Hm.” He chewed his lower lip a moment. “Lemme see what I can scrounge up. I’m still deciding.”  Yep.  Blonde Guy would do; he was standing in a decently wide stance, bag loose on his shoulder.  It was clear he didn’t think he’d be targeted for anything, probably because he ‘could take care of himself in a fight’.  Idiot.  Now he just needed a ruse.  Another sweep of the crowd gave him the opportunity; someone had bought a beer and turned their back on it on the vendor’s window.  He swiped it and kept moving along with the rush of people until he was close the the blonde.  Off to the side, he noticed someone placing bets with a bookie and made a note to stop there before she fought.  After another moment, he let himself be pushed into the guy, staggering with the crowd.

“Oh, fuckin’...I’m sorry, man, I didn’t spill anything on you, did I?  Shee- _it_ …”

Mark put a half grin on his face, slouching his shoulders and throwing an arm around him, acting like he was tipsy.  He pretended to catch his balance after bouncing off him, playing up his drawl.  For whatever reason people seemed to be put at ease by it and think he was dumber than a box of rocks all at once.  Lovable village idiot.  It always worked in his favor.  The blonde was stiff under his arm, annoyed and uncomfortable. “No, you didn’t. But get the fuck off me.”

“God, I’m-I’m just so embarrassed about that, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Oh, _fuck…_ ” Shepard looked down, putting a little wrinkle of concern between his brows. “Can you do me a favor and hold this a minute? Gotta tie my shoe. Thanks.” The other man blinked in surprise, suddenly holding the beer as he ducked down.  People always felt beholden after being asked to do a favor.  It didn’t matter if they actually wanted to do it or not, as long as it happened, they were already half in his pocket.   _Like settin’ up a detonation; now he’s primed._  He honestly would have been surprised if he had to skip this stage; meant the guy still had _some_ sense. He popped back up after a moment and grabbed the beer back, taking a sip.

“Say, thanks again.  You’re bein’ really cool about this whole thing, uh. What’s your name again? I didn’t catch it the first time.”  He cocked his head to the side, hand out in an offer to shake with an easy grin.

“Grant.”

“ _Grant…_ ” He grasped his hand and pumped it strongly a few times before letting go.  People loved hearing their name and it only helped soften him further to his ploy.

“Good to meetcha, man. You fightin’ tonight?” Grant nodded. “Awesome. I’ll be bettin’ on you. Don’t let me down.” The blonde scoffed, biting back a smile and Shepard took another sip of his beer, locking eyes with him.  “So tell me, Grant, you been fightin’ long?”

Mark saw Shepherd roll her eyes and turn away, disappearing into the crowd.  Not like it was hard for her to do; the majority of the people here were at least half a foot taller than her.  Good thing he had the high ground and could pick her hair out.  He ignored her for now, focusing back to the guy standing in front of him, nodding enthusiastically along.  This guy was like reading his favorite novel, giving him all the tells and signals that he was playing right into Mark’s hand.  Getting him to talk about his training and history with fighting made him drop his guard even more.

“So what brings you out tonight?  You fighting?” Grant asked, face open and smiling.   _Perfect_.

“Um, I...I don’t think so.  Probably not, I mean, I’m just here for my, uh, _sister_ , really.”  He took another sip and crushed the beer cup in one hand, keeping up on the drunken charade. “Makin’ sure she comes home in one piece and all.  Has all her equipment. Turns out that-”  Just then Shepherd walked up to him, eyebrows raised. “Say, uh, speak of the little red devil herself. This here is my kid sister, Kate. Kate, meet my buddy Grant here.”

He almost laughed at her expression when she heard that; her eyebrows raised to her hairline. The blonde nodded at her, grinning.  “Maybe you can do me another favor, man.” Mark touched him lightly on his forearm. “We can’t seem to find her mouthguard, and I swear to _god_ we packed it in her bag, but...y’know how it goes, and I noticed you have a spare.” He nodded to a little carry case poking out of Grant’s gym bag. “Any way you could help a brother out? Can’t bring my little sister home missin’ teeth, now, can I?” He touched Grant’s shoulder this time, light and unassuming before throwing that same hand up in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture.

Shepherd narrowed her eyes at Mark for an instant before sidling in next to him and peering up at him.  Good.  She figured it out. He draped a loose arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a comfortable hug. _Good battle, you get a cookie._  “C’mon, _Mark_. He doesn’t want to, it’s fine. I can just fight another time. I should’ve paid more attention.”

Grant hesitated, then slowly pulled the case out. “Yeah, sure. I guess…”

Mark plucked it from his fingers, popping it open to look at it.   _Blue._ His lucky night.  “You’re the best, man. Just my luck to run into a stand up guy like you.” He snapped the case closed with a grin, head cocked to the side again. “Good luck tonight, we gotta prep. See ya ringside.”

She stepped out from under his arm and they walked away from Grant, every step dropping the jovial, drunken facade into his usual blank face of practiced nonchalance. “Thanks, _big brother._ You’re the best,” she smirked up at him, grabbing the case from his hand and flipping it in the air twice before tossing it back to him with a sly wink. The ring announcer called out Red versus Delgado. “Wanna be my cornerman?”  He scoffed.

“Like there was any question?” They stopped by the bookie. “300 creds on...what name did you put down?”

“Red.”

“ _Red_ , huh? Aight. 300 on _Red_.”

They fell into comfortable banter, easy and teasing as she prepped for the ring.  Again the thought flitted through his head that he hoped it didn’t read as flirting.  Blondie had been kinda batting her eyes at him and Sheffield and he ignored it as much as the other man did.

“Was hoping you’d second for me. Inconvenient doing this alone. I’ll get you when you fight.” She refocused on the ring, eyeballing her opponent as she ducked under the section of mesh barrier he lifted for her.  Her opponent, Delgado, was bouncing on his toes, coiled muscle itching for a chance to spring free.  The look on his face was an ugly kind of anticipation.  Mark had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with his battle’s small stature and even more to do with the fact she was a ‘she’.  Didn’t matter why Delgado had that viewpoint when it got down to  it, it was just a fight down to the last one standing.  He watched them, half entertaining the amusing idea of how different Delgado’s response might be if he were in the ring himself.  He’d put up a good front, probably, but be mentally shitting bricks.

The two fighters circled each other, Shepherd’s face smooth and calm as her eyes tracked Delgado’s movements.  She dodged his first testing jabs, keeping her fists in position to block until he gave her an opening. He was toying with her, deliberately trying to keep his motions slow in an attempt to throw her off.  Mark held back a scoff; dude was terrible at feinting; the actual strikes he was making were slow, yeah, but the micro-movements in between when he was altering his stance and position were too quick for it to be anything but a ruse.

They circled each other continuously, weaving back and forth until Delgado finally lashed out. She ducked his fist and jammed her fist in his jaw. He spat a stream of red.   _Good job, little girl._ _First blood._ Mark settled in, brow furrowed; this fight was just getting started.  Her opponent gave her a nasty look and squared his shoulders: the metaphorical gloves were coming off.

Delgado lunged forward, raining a flurry of blows against her fists, forearms, and the sides of her head. She blocked as well as she could, hunkering down and making herself as small a target as possible under the onslaught.  Smart tactic, too.  She was letting him wear himself out. Mark shifted as he watched Delgado step out just a bit too far; she hooked her foot behind his ankle and gave a swift jerk. Her opponent stumbled back, giving her enough of an opening to move in.  He was going to pay for that little mistake of his and Shepherd was going to make sure of it. Sacrificing his lead leg like that was a dumb move.  She paid him back blow for blow, ruthless in smashing her fists in his face.  Mark bit back his amusement; he the rate she was going, he should have bet 600.

_Hold up...somethin’ ain’t right..._

His skin crawled.  Delgado caught her fist as she struck again, tucking it out of sight.  Mark craned his head, trying to see what was happening; that was a strange move to make.  Shepherd was frozen in a stance.   _Motherfucker._  Delgado was biotic and he’d locked her in a stasis field. The ref didn’t do anything; he must’ve been mundane and not felt the energy surge.  Delgado slammed his fist slam into her face, blood erupting over her eye and cheek. Enough of this shit.

“REF, you fuckin’ blind?? Christ, man, biotics in play!” Mark’s voice rang out, annoyed. Delgado released her and they were waved off to their separate corners. Shepherd stalked out of the ring, scowl firmly in place. “Thanks,” she said, rubbing her wrist. “Goddamn hate stasis.”

Mark furrowed his brow, looking her over critically. “Lemme check your tape. Need water?”

“Tape’s still good. Water would be great. And this blood outta my eye.”

“Was gettin’ to that.” He pursed his lips and dabbed gently at her eyebrow, sponging up the blood.  Even now she was trying to micromanage. _One thing at a time, cupcake, give you time to recover._ “Open…” He squirted water in her mouth, half expecting her to spit it back out in his face.  

“Amps out!” the ref called out. Mark held out his hand, palm up and waiting.  She slapped it in his hand, green eyes blazing. He made his voice go low and dangerous as he closed his hand around it.

“Fuck ‘im up for that shit, huh? He’s a little weak on his lead leg. Git ‘im.”

She cracked her knuckles and stepped back into the ring. Delgado smirked at her and when he lashed out with his fist, she took Mark’s advice and went after his leg. They broke apart, Shepherd resuming her circling.  Mark shook his head; the size difference between the two was amusing.  He could only imagine what people must think when they saw the two of them running miles and shit together.  Didn’t matter, though, she was more than a match for this guy and it was entertaining as shit.

He kicked out, aiming for her head. She blocked, using his momentum to flip him but he caught himself, using the net to keep him upright and in the game. Mark chewed on the inside of his lip, observing. Shepherd followed him into the net, plowing her head into his torso and slammed her fist into his side.  Kidney shot.  Damn.  She was pissed and taking it out on him, stupid idiot. Shouldn’t have broken the rules.

Delgado bent, managing to hook an arm beneath her knee and threw her across the ring. She recovered quickly, rolling as her back hit the mat.  He charged her with his head down and she caught his head against her side, bracing herself against him and tucking her arm beneath his armpit. He pushed against her to no avail; she’d found a chink in his armor and honed in on it.  She had a certain ruthless streak to her most other soldiers he knew didn’t; it was refreshing to see.  He snorted; Shepherd climbed Delgado like a spider monkey just then, looping a leg around his neck and throwing them both backwards her weight back onto the mat.

Dumbass.  She had him in her clutches now, and she was going to make it fuckin’ count. She pummeled Delgado’s head with sharp blows of her elbows.  Mark winced; she was going for the fucker’s amp port and ignoring the hand slapping her thigh.  He hated anybody touching his head, amp port especially.  The ref actually fuckin’ noticed this time and snapped his fingers at him, pointing.  Mark moved in behind her, hooking his hands under arms to prize her off.  Delgado’s cornerman puffed a bit, trying to break the lock grip she had around his neck with her thighs.  _Good luck, dude..._

“Ease down, baby, you got ‘im,” he murmured in her ear. “Fucker deserved every lick he got.” Shepherd broke her grasp on the limp, bloody figure and followed him out of the ring.  She sprawled in the chair, breathing heavy and eyes glazed a bit from the adrenaline.  Mark didn’t say anything while he gently sponged her face again and squirted water into her mouth, assessing.  Bloody, nothing broken that they knew about. She grabbed a cloth and wiped the worst of Delgado’s blood off, snapping out of her mental fog.

“About that booze…” she said coyly, eyeing him.  Shit, now was _she_ trying to flirt?  He probably wouldn’t say no if they weren’t roommates and battle buddies, but they were and that was that.  He didn’t mess with squaddies as a personal rule if he could help it.  Maybe the next cycle if they weren’t assigned to each other and they both made the cut, but he didn’t bother thinking any more on that track.  Anything could happen in the coming weeks.  He quirked an eyebrow and held out her amp.

“Gotta collect the winnin’s first. Want me to seat it or you got it?”

She tipped her head forward and slid the braids aside. “If you don’t mind. You can see it and the adrenaline crash has got my hands shaking.”

“N’aight. Stay still.” He popped her amp home and ran his thumb over it to make sure it fit snugly, then dropped his hand, holding out her water bottle and slinging her bag over his shoulder when she took it.  “Let’s go cash out.”  It didn’t take much time at all to collect and he toggled the ‘split payout’ option, sending one voucher to her omni-tool. _150 creds, 50/50 split profits.  Earned fair and square._

“What’s this?”

“Your cut of the booze money. Don’t say I never gave you nothin’.”

An hour later, he tucked his hoodie and shirt on top of her bag and taped his fists.  It felt a little weird to be in his sweatpants for a fight, but the alternative was give people a show he wasn’t willing to give.  He just hoped they wouldn’t drag too much when he kicked and slow him down in the fight.  He pursed his lips, concentrating on loosening up a bit.  First time for everything, and tonight was his first fight in an underground ring.  Go figure.  Admittedly, it _would_ be nice to be able to let out some pent up aggression.  PT exhausted him physically, the classroom tired him mentally, and the stupid ass argument between them about the fuckin’ temp control was just draining, but sometimes he just wanted to hit something until it broke.  No thought behind it, easy to get out of his head and just _do_.

It was somewhat a relief to see her be just as brutal as he could be, too.  He banked on getting the job done at all costs, no matter how far he had to go, and so did the Alliance.  He hadn’t found the line for himself yet, but some of the people he got stationed with were uncomfortable with him.  Until he got reassigned, anyway, then it really wasn’t a problem anymore.  He suspected it only helped that he didn’t have any living ties.  It didn’t matter if he came back or not; nobody would come looking.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by Shepherd snorting and nodding across the ring.  He tossed a glance over his shoulder, smirking at her when he saw who it was: Grant. The blonde guy he’d conned the mouthguard out of did a double-take at the sight of them.  Now that he wasn’t wearing his sweats, either, Mark got a good look at him: hulking behemoth was about right for a descriptor.  No matter.  He’d dealt with krogan before, and Grant didn’t have armor or plates or a shotgun.  Pretty muscle to look at, but if he actually knew how to use it would be the key.  He smirked as he saluted Grant with the mouthguard before popping it in and stepped into the ring.   

They touched fists for a brief moment before circling each other, their hands raised in front of their faces. Mark didn’t waste time with experimental jabs, preferring instead to watch his opponent. No sense in wasting energy on useless movements.  He narrowed his eyes, assessing again.  Grant ceased to be a person as he broke him down mentally into strike zones and targets to hit, calculating reach and impact of potential blows, every shift of weight and possible evading maneuvers from his opponent.

He caught sight of Shepherd out of the corner of his eye; she had her arms crossed her arms over her chest and weight shifted back. People in the background jeered, fading away to white noise as they circled each other again. Grant scowled, no doubt pissed that he wasn’t attempting to bait him and the crowd was letting their dissatisfaction at not getting any action, further frustrating him.  _Ausgezeichnet[1].  Throw ‘im further off before it even starts._

Grant struck out with a foot and aimed for his chest.  Dumbass left his fists separated enough to leave his face completely unguarded and open, Mark noted with a slight smirk as he blocked.  _Good to know.  He can’t remember to move top and bottom all at once._  He saw Grant bringing a knee up and decided to use the window of opportunity the other man would afford him by leaving his head open.  Idiot really did need to learn how to move his entire body all at once.  Whatever trainer he had was utter crap if he couldn’t pinpoint that.  He took the hit to his side, tensing his abs to deflect and unleashed a blistering volley of blows on his head that staggered him long enough for Mark to take a step back and land a solid kick to the side of Grant’s head. The burly man stumbled, dazed, but didn’t go down.  _That was your freebie, bitch._ Mark nodded to himself, confirming the amount of force he suspected he needed.  No more pussyfootin’ around.

Grant wobbled his head and got himself back a bit, countering. _Good.  Would’ve been disappointin’ if he couldn’t shake that._ Mark bit hard on the mouthguard, trying not to grin as they finally traded blow-for-blow.  This was what he looked for in a fight: a slug-fest where there wasn’t any indicator of a clear winner and it could be anybody’s game.  Physically, they were pretty evenly matched, but Mark was counting on having the mental game over his opponent.  Grant wasted a lot of energy with extra moves and didn’t fully commit to finishing them.  Not a smart strategy.  Mark himself didn’t swing unless he knew it was going to land where he wanted it and only moved to strike when he could see an opening. Grant was just as easy to read in the ring as he was out of it, his movements advertising where the next unguarded spot was going to be

They caught each other by the fists.  Stalemate.  This was the one thing Mark was a little uncertain he could best the other man at: outright shoving contest with brute strength.  He was definitely no wilting flower, but Grant had him in sheer mass and was going to use it.  _Smartest thing you’ve done all night, cupcake.  Too bad I want it more._  Mark shoved their hands out to the side, bringing their bare chests together to shorten the space between them.  Good thing he didn’t have to fight fair.  Grants eyes widened comically Mark drew his head back and slammed his forehead into his face.  His battle buddy laughed harshly from the corner, but he ignored her.  No time for distractions.   

The blow knocked Grant back a few staggering steps, sending spatters of blood from his nose to the mat.  It was enough to allow Mark to gather himself, backing off enough to give himself room for one of his favorite moves.  Sparring to practice with it was one thing, but attempting to break someone’s sternum was generally frowned upon for gym etiquette.  He exhaled slowly through his mouth, visualizing the move, then went for it.  Two long strides brought him into the strike zone and he heaved himself into the air in as tight a ball he could manage before smashing both feet squarely into Grant’s chest.  He heard the air _whoosh_ out of the blonde’s chest on impact, sending himself to the mat on his back and Grant flying into the net.  He rolled backwards and landed in a crouch, ready for Grant to rush him in retaliation if he could recover, but he shouldn’t have worried: the other man’s body was limp but still semi-conscious.

_Perfection.  Mach es fertig[2]._

Mark launched himself out of the crouch and into the air again, twisting his body in a vicious spin kick that was just as much to show off as it was to end the fight.  He snapped Grant’s head to the side and landed on the balls of his feet, fists up and bouncing at the ready.  Couldn’t afford to be cocky, either; not about _this_ shit.  He circled the blonde heap after a moment, fists still up and watching for any kind of movement.  Nothing. The ref counted it out and called the fight.   _Abgemacht[3]._

Shepherd met him outside the ring with a water bottle in one hand and the other extended for a high five. “Uuuup top!” she exclaimed. He scoffed and looked at her incredulously.  

“You serious?”

“As a damn heart attack.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, exasperated smile on his lips as he held his hand up.  “You’re a dork.”

“ _Hells_ yes…”   

She smacked her palm to his, grinning as he sat down in the chair, leaning back and slouching.   _Damn_ , he was tired.  Nothing sounded better than a warm shower to relax and passing out on his bed.  This was the first and the _last_ time she was talking him into going out at night to fight, he decided.  Fun but he’d probably be payin’ for it later.  The skin on his forehead already felt a little tight.  She leaned in a little to blot the blood away from his face with a wet sponge.  He drank from the bottle and she held up a packet of medigel. “Want me to do it?” she asked. He blinked, glancing at the packet before locking eyes with hers.  Strangely considerate of her to not just start smearing it on.   _Huh_.

Mark reached out and delicately plucked the packet from between her fingers. “I got it. Thanks,” he replied quietly, looking at Grant back in the ring.  The blonde was being hauled up into a sitting position. “Guess it was a damn good thing I didn’t actually bet on him, huh?”

She chuckled. “Yep. Throw the fight for the money or win and lose it? ...Lose the money. No question.”

“Yeah, no way I’d lay down for that shit,” he agreed. “Especially for that teeny amount.”  He tugged his hoodie on, wincing as it brushed over his head. “Probably be feelin’ this the next few days. Is this somethin’ you do on the regular?”  Yep.  Definitely a headache brewing in the next few hours.  _Worth it_.

“When I need to release pent-up shit, yeah. Sanctioned fights have too many restrictions. Need to just let it out sometimes, y’know? And this fucking week was a pain in the ass. It was this or bash Leng in the head with an oar.”

He definitely understood the need, especially with what dickhead tried to pull in the zodiac...Mark wouldn’t exactly call himself a violent person, but sometimes it was damn tempting as a solution.  He rolled his lips inwards a moment, suppressing a snort.  “That works. Most people just take care of it in the shower, though.”

The blink of comprehension was amusing when what he said clicked with her.  She smirked, rising to the bait.  _Atta girl_. “That’s why there’s never any hot water left when you get done… Whatever flies your starship, dude.”

Mark huffed a small laugh to himself; not the best comeback ever but serviceable.  The fact that she was willing to trade almost-insults back and forth was encouraging; if they were stuck with each other for the next five weeks, they might as well be on relatively good speaking terms.  Besides, he might be able to make a contact out of her for use later on.  Being on friendly terms with the Alliance’s poster girl could only help in his career.  “Note how I’m usually done in five minutes or less. That’s not even enough time to take a decent shit. I call bullshit on the hot water, or lack thereof.” He heaved himself out of the chair. “Anything else you gotta do or can we bounce, _little sister_?”

“Think we’re done here, _big brother_ ,” she said, braids waving down her back as she shook her head, fighting a grin. Maybe she _did_ have a decent sense of humor. “That was clever. Pull that manipulative shit with me, though, and I’ll have your ass.”  He gave an abrupt laugh and nudged her with his elbow.   _Sharp, too.  Could be a fun offer later_.  

“You would be so lucky.”

“Pssht. You wish.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Mark concentrated on the grenade in his hands under the pavilion, the hot sun ignoring whatever protection it might have given, and following the steps DIs Moreno and Kirkland had outlined to mod them.  They continued to drone on in the background while DI Torres prowled the lines.  Shepherd, Sheffield, and Leng were to his nine, respectively, all focused on their own explosives.  A clatter from across their shared space with the other four made him glance up; Bertram had dropped hers and was scrabbling for it.  Rheinscheld rolled her eyes, glancing across the table and caught him looking at them.  They blinked at each other a moment and she ducked her head, smiling shyly while Torres ripped her battle buddy a new one.  

Mark raised his eyebrows at her and went back to his own grenade.  Shepherd quirked her eyebrow at him, then kept messing with hers as well.  It seemed she and Sheffield were in an impromptu race to mod the most the fastest or some shit like that.  They smirked at each other like his brothers used to when they were planning on ganging up on him for some prank attempt and he inadvertently found himself moving faster on his own grenades, goddamnit.  That would be some shit right there if they blew themselves up. _Here lies Boat Crew Three, they’re on fire and oh fuck - it’s me.  Butterfingers all us had, but it’s okay cuz we’re all dead._

Luckily they all made it through without another incident and Sheffield and Shepherd placed their grenades on the table at the same time, reaching for another with impish glee. Mark was only a few seconds behind them, pursing his lips and shaking his head.  “Step back from the tables,” Moreno ordered. It amused Mark that he only came up to about his chin, but he’d be willing to bet he’d be fun to wrestle with since he was compact and scrappy.  Torres hated the world, and him most of all, it seemed, and Kirkland was a fuckin’ ponce who was under delusions of exactly how important he was.  Moreno, though...he was one of the better ones simply because the bar was just that low and he was fairly even in temperament. He directed them to take the modified grenades to the foxholes at the near end of the range.

He and Shepherd stepped down into theirs, flowing around each other as they arranged the grenades in the provided box.  Surf passage and the fight had made him fairly aware of her body language and they fell into a natural rhythm around each other, even though the snarky banter they were capable of seemed reserved for off-base excursions only.  It was enough at the moment that he knew the barrier could be breached.  The silence was comfortable with her now.

It was an unspoken agreement that he went first and he stepped forward, setting the ten second timer.  He extended his arm back, counting silently and letting the rest of the world fall away from him.  Alphabet fell easily into pitching form on his right and Blondie glanced at Kirkland once she pulled her arm back on his left. They all threw their grenades in tandem, ducking back behind the barricade and clapping hands over their ears. His battle and him peered over the top and watched the resulting explosions send plumes of dirt, flame, and smoke soaring prettily into the air.  _Big ol’ boom, baby…_

“ _Hells_ yes,” she muttered beside him.  He shook his head in amusement as she grabbed a grenade and stepped up, waiting for the order to set the charge.  Butterfingers took Blondie’s place to their left and he half wondered if they were in for a repeat of the mod table.  She plucked one of her grenades from the box and waited for the order.

“Set timer!”

He noted with some amusement she was trying to imitate Alphabet’s stance from their turn.  Not a bad idea if you weren’t used to lobbin’ shit at targets. She didn’t do too badly when she threw it, but he would have been surprised if she didn’t at least come close. Water balloons had the same principle.  Back home when it was _really_ hot out-  

“ _Take cover!_ ”  

Instinct took over and he launched himself into her, pinning her beneath him facedown in the dirt and cradling her head with his arm.  He molded himself around her, trying to cover her as much as possible. Her own self-preservation instinct must’ve kicked up in response to getting plowed into the ground; her barrier flared a brilliant blue and surrounded them both. She gasped beneath him, struggling to draw a breath and he realized with a start she probably just had the wind knocked out of her. He barely arched his back around her, which had the unfortunate effect of pressing his hips right into her ass.  Ah well.  At least she could breathe better.

Rocks, shrapnel, and dirt pummeled the barrier with a huge rush of heat washing over him.  _Neat party trick...can feel the barrier, can’t feel the force against it.  Huh._  Roaring noise shot through with panicked shouting meandered through the air and slid into his ears, time slowing down as adrenaline surged through his body. Flames danced over them, wicked and searing, barrier keeping it from actually burning him, but he still felt the heat. He couldn’t help it; he flattened himself as much as he could to avoid it and Shepherd let out a little huff at the increase of pressure on her. She squirmed slightly, ass snugged even tighter in his groin and it almost didn’t even register there was somethin’ for her to back into him against until she _did_ and he felt himself respond to the friction even more.  

 _Aw, hell...body chemistry and proximity, nothin’ more.  Fuck me…_  Hopefully she was smart enough to realize that’s what the situation was, or at the very least not fuckin’ mention it.  It felt like a lot longer than it actually had been when he finally peeled himself off her, smoke clearing and leaving an unpleasant stench in his nostrils. He started brushing the dirt off his BDU’s, assessing himself.   _Limbs intact: check.  Uniform: check.  Battle standing: check.  Hearing: ...left is ringin’.  Motherfucker…_

He pursed his lips and glanced over to the destructive duo and sure enough, Kirkland was standing over Bertram and Rheinscheld’s prone forms, breathing heavy as their hands covered their heads and a shimmering biotic bubble faded out around them.  Dipshits, both.  But alive dipshits, and that was ultimately the most important thing. Mark sighed and turned back to his own partner.  She smirked.

“Aw, babycakes. Didn’t realize you cared so much. Heart you, too.”

Be still his receding-adrenaline-rushin’ heart.  Maybe this would put them on more of an open talking mood. “Wouldn’t do to have the brass’ show dog be road kill,” he shot back mischievously, still dusting off his fatigues. “Wouldn’t look good on my record.”

“Woof woof, bitch,” she replied with a grin.  He snorted, grinning back.

“There’s hope for you yet.”  The ringing in his ear faded, sounds coming back over the rush of his pulse and fading adrenaline.  He breathed deep, trying to steady his hands and nerves as he turned back to their bucket and making sure no smoldering detritus was hiding in it for another nasty surprise.  Shepherd sounded off when Torres demanded confirmation from them.  Back to business.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Two hours later, they trudged into the smoker’s pit outside the barracks for a few moments’ break before chow.  He was lying on his back on his usual bench, one knee bent and the other leg dangling as much as it could over the side, cig burning between his fingers resting on his belly again.  Long fuckin’ day.  He moved his jaw a little, testing...his ear still felt a little blocked because of the stupid fuckin’ idiots during grenade training.  Hopefully that wasn’t permanent damage.  He sighed and brought his cigarette up to his lips, taking a drag.  No clouds to watch right now, unfortunately, but that was alright. Pretty sky, at least.

He let the smoke drift out of his nostrils, not allowing himself to think any further than the fact he still fancied himself a dragon whenever he did.  No nevermind how he got the idea.  Probably something Shepherd would mock him for if she ever found out, anyway, though he thought he saw the corner of a book series he read a while back that had dragons, knights, court politics, and summers as long as Mindoir’s tucked away on her desk.  

Perhaps they had a bit more in common than he initially thought. It wasn’t her fault she got shoved into the spot the Alliance put her in, and in the past week and a half of being bound at the hip with her, it was obvious she really did not enjoy it.  She dealt with it because she had to.  That inched his respect for her up, not like he’d ever tell her that.  He rolled his head to the side and looked at her exhausted form holding up the wall, then tossed his pack on the other bench between them. She stared blankly at it a moment, then plucked out a cigarette and lit it before tossing the pack and lighter back to him.

_You’re not so bad, little girl.  Might even get to be friends before we’re through here.  Who’d ever believe it._

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

He ached all over after coming out of the shower later that night.  Lights were still on and they had free time to themselves right before they needed to bed down for the night. Shepherd was reading said book in bed, flaming hair spread out over her pillow like spilled wine on a tablecloth. That was interestin’ to see.  

The pillow he propped against his headboard wasn’t very comfortable, not really, but it was ok for a little bit.  He grabbed his datapad and stared at the classroom reading he still had up.  Ugh.  No way he could concentrate enough for that.  He tabbed over to a different screen and glanced at her again, choosing a deep purple color before swiping a finger down the blank screen.  Another swipe continued in a slight curve, yet another drifted down and curled back around the other direction. Her ear took shape, then her nose and eyelashes, more waves of hair drifting across the screen as he kept adding line after sweeping line.  Another glance and he filled in a blotch that was the blanket.

Shepherd glanced up from her book as she turned a page, a brow flickering up, but went back to it without comment.  Eh.  She was getting suspicious.  He bit his lower lip and furrowed his brow, studying the screen.  Not bad, considering how long it had been since he’d done anything like it.  Or even had the time to, for that matter.  He paused, finger hovering above the screen and flicked another look at her.

"Do I have something in my nose?” she asked without looking up.

“Fucked if I know,” he snorted, focusing back on the screen and erasing a bit to add highlights to the strands of hair.  “Seems more like a question I should ask _you_.”

“You keep looking over here.  Doubt it’s because you’re admiring the view, so figured I might as well ask.” She turned another page, shifting the blanket slightly.

“Just wonderin’ when you’re gonna close the goddamn window is all,” he said mildly, dating and saving the image before turning off the screen and putting it on his nightstand.  He lumped his pillow under his chest and buried his face in it.  “See ya in the mornin’.”

“I’ll close it when you fix the AC,” she said with a smirk, closing her book and laying it on the nightstand. “See ya.”

He chuckled into his pillow and slapped the light switch on the wall, bathing them in darkness.  Yep.  They’d get along just fine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Glossary:_  
>  [1] Ausgezeichnet: Excellent  
> [2] Mach es Fertig: Get it done  
> [3] Abgemacht: done/settled/finished


	5. All It Takes is a Little Push

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“There comes a point where you no longer care if there’s a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You’re just sick of the tunnel.”_ ~Ranata Suzuki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings. Heed the tag "I Will Break You"

**_Unbreakable_** , by Kate_Shepard and potionsmaster

 

Rating: E for sex, drugs, rock n’ roll, and country.  Otherwise known as ‘Violence out the wazoo’ and actual country.  (Country needs a warning label.)  Heed the warnings and tags, kiddies.  It ain’t pretty.

 

 **Chapter 5:** _All It Takes is a Little Push_

 

~*~*~*~

 

Red sputtered as briny water crashed over her face. Sheffield’s arm, linked with hers, tensed. The subsequent undertow dug furrows into the sand beneath her, lifting her uniformed body and attempting to tug it out to sea, but she was firmly anchored between him and Shepard on the other side, muttering curses under his breath when he could catch it. As long as Sheffield didn’t break, at least. She didn’t like her chances with Leng on his other side should he decide to call it.

Salt coated her sinuses and the back of her throat, burning with every breath. Fuckin’ surf torture. Aptly named. Over the rumbling tide, the instructors barked out orders. Flutter kicks in themselves weren’t difficult. Flutter kicks while attempting to simply _breathe_ without drowning were a bitch. She counted off in her head, catching the instructors’ shouts only often enough to ensure that they were still matched up, and turned the bulk of her focus to the rush and draw of the water. There was a point between each wave where it hesitated before surging back over them that allowed just enough time to clear the water from their mouths and noses so that they could take a breath before the next wave.

“Fuck this fuckin’ sheee- _it_ …” Shepard grumbled through another mouthful of seawater.  Sheffield stared blankly at the beach, trying and failing not to shake. Down the line, Alphabet attempted to crack a joke, but was interrupted by another wave. She could feel the resulting cough through both Leng and Sheffield.

Rheinscheld was blubbering again, but before Red could formulate something motivational, Bertram snapped, “Oh, would you _shut up_ already? We’re all here, dealing with the same--agh, _fuck_ \--the same shit as you. Quit goddamn whining about it!”

If Red could have gotten an arm free, she’d have high-fived the woman. But, no. She was fuckin’ team lead. Which meant she had to keep morale up. And sniping within the ranks didn’t keep morale up. She waited out another wave while trying to figure out _something_ to say when the truth of the matter was that Bertram had just vocalized what they’d all been thinking for more than a week now. Red didn’t often feel sympathy, but Blondie made her all the more grateful that Shepard was her battle buddy. She’d have probably smothered Rheinscheld in her sleep by now. Bertram was a damn saint.

She was drawing a blank on motivational sayings. ‘If Sheffield isn’t losing his shit, _you_ don’t get to lose _your_ shit’ would just make him feel worse about the whole thing and he was actually holding it together for the moment. He was one of the few in this group who pulled his weight and then some, factoring in the fact that the instructors seemed determined to utilize the ocean in every way they possibly could and a few they probably had to bend nature to get away with. She’d rather he not ring out just yet if she could help it. His replacement would probably be another shitbag.

“Is it just me or is the tide coming in?” Jones called out, an edge of panic in his voice.

 _That_  she could say something about. “We knew it was coming, guys. And when it does, we get to rest.”

“Rest? That’s what we’re calling it now?” Alphabet said on a choked laugh.

“This is ICT. Damn right, that’s a rest,” she replied. Come high tide, all they had to do was lie here, not get dragged out to sea, and not drown. At the Villa, you took your breaks where you could get them. “Sheffield, how you holding up?” she asked, dropping her voice.

“Never better,” came the strained response.

“Embrace the suck, right?” If she could get him focused on the group rather than the water, maybe he’d relax a little. Currently, the grip of his elbow on hers was almost cutting off her circulation, but she wasn’t about to move. If that made him feel more secure, she could deal with tingling fingers. She didn’t like water in her face any more than the next guy, but it legitimately freaked him out. And yet here he was, locked down with the rest of them.

“Yeah. Sure. We’ll go with that,” he tried to laugh as another wave washed over them. It ended with what could almost be a sob when the water receded, but the tremors in his arm around hers stopped for a few moments as he gasped in a breath.

She adjusted her grip, locking her hand around his forearm. “Nowhere else you’d rather be, right? Sure beats the hell out of being a lazy beach bum, ass in the sand with a little umbrella drink. Who wants that?” Another wave crashed over them, pressing her down into the sand before jerking her back against their arms. The line shifted slightly, but held.

“Mm.  Not me.  Gimme a whiteout blizzard on a hazard planet before you take me to that,” Shepard grunted.  “Paradise my ass...not with sand in it, no thank _you_.”

Red blinked quickly, trying to get the water out of her eyes as she nodded. “Swear to Christ if I never see another grain of sand after this, it’ll be too fuckin’ soon. Did I tell you I found some of that shit in the top corner of my wall locker yesterday? How the hell did it get there? Shit’s like goddamn glitter. Beach herpes. It breeds. Or the instructors sneak in and toss it everywhere.” She paused to let another wave crash and gasped in a breath. “Sheffield, weirdest place you’ve found sand so far?”

“....armpits,” he shivered. “Because I’m pretty damn sure everybody has it where the sun don’t shine.”

She sputtered a laugh. “And judging by the instructors, I have a feeling we’re about to experience that one again. At least it gets us out of the water for a few, right?”

“Wet and sandy!” Kirkland shouted, pacing up the row of boat crews. “I want everybody wet and sandy now!”

They struggled to their feet as a single exhausted unit and released their death grips on each other before bolting to the nearest sand dune and throwing themselves down to roll in it. It wasn’t enough to just get it _some_ places. They wanted to see it _everywhere_. A clean spot anywhere but the eyes and mouth meant another trek back to the top of the dune. It went down their shirts, ground its way into their boots, and Sheffield wasn’t kidding about it going ‘where the sun don’t shine.’ Her ass was fucking _chafed_ from all the goddamn sand that made it past her belt.

She looked over to find Shepard face first in the grit, tossing fistfuls of the stuff over himself and smirked before scooping up a handful and dumping it over the back of his head. “Missed a spot.”

“ _Fuck_ in’...gah!” he shuddered as it trickled down the back of his shirt and he pushed himself up off the dune. “Careful. I might think you actually give a shit.”

She looked up at him with her most innocent expression. “I’m just being a good buddy. Got your six, _battle_.” She’d officially been out in the sun too long or had consumed too much saltwater. But, hell, if she couldn’t have a little fun with it when the opportunity arose, what was the point of dealing with the shit?

Shepard quirked an amused eyebrow at her and slung a small handful of sand that spattered on her stomach before they turned back to the ocean. “Heart you, too, cupcake.” It probably was just the sun in her eyes but she thought maybe, just _maybe_ , there might have been a hint of a grin on his sand-covered face.

They certainly made a comical picture like that. She had enough sand in her hair that she was pretty sure she’d be able to take her bun down and build a sand castle in the shower later if she wanted. The combined weight of the sand and water in it pulled at her scalp. But who gave a shit? It’d wash out. She tucked up beside him and glanced around to ensure that the instructors were occupied before pulling up her omni-tool and snapping a picture. Kaidan would probably enjoy that. Shepard blinked at her and gave her shoulder a playful shove before turning back to the water. “...the shit was that for? Dork...” That was _definitely_ a grin.

“Posterity,” she answered with a grin of her own.

Blondie made a beeline for Sheffield, but Alphabet sidled in beside him, cutting her off, so she redirected to Shepard instead. For somebody who supposedly missed her husband so bad, she sure was determined to get near either of the twins. She didn’t seem to care which one it was, just that they paid her even an iota of attention. Red shot an amused eye roll at her battle buddy and took her spot between them again. Leng ended up on the outside this time. Good. Maybe Jones’ grip would slip and he’d get washed away.

Sheffield heaved a sigh and linked arms with her, resignation or determination pinching his lips together. It didn’t matter which it was at this point. The tide was actively coming in now, each wave higher than the one before, and the instructors stopped them a little closer to the shore than they had been. Exercise was over, at least. Now it was just endure and survive.

Jones’ eyes were wider than Sheffield’s had been earlier. He didn’t seem to mind the water when they were in the zodiac, but having to lie here while it relentlessly pounded them into the sandy bottom was getting to him. She briefly considered swapping him and Sheffield out, but if she had to pick between them, the latter was the one she wanted to make it through. Jones was on his own. Hopefully Alphabet could get him through. He, at least, seemed to find this whole exercise entertaining.

They laid back in the water again, this time with their heads toward the shore. It put them a little shallower and meant that they could see the waves before they hit, but it also meant watching them roll in one after another. That could be as much a mindfuck as not knowing when they were coming. Seeing it was just a reminder that there was no end in sight. The instructors might keep them out here for half an hour or half a day. There was no rhyme or reason to it. If Sheffield could stick this part out, she’d be impressed.

Shepard glanced over her head at him, then caught her gaze before sighing as they settled back into it. Maybe he thought the same thing. She wrapped her hand around Sheffield’s forearm again. She’d done more touching today than she had since Vancouver, but it didn’t seem to be hurting and she’d take whatever edge she could get. This was where his weakness was and he was working to fix it. That made keeping him in the game her top priority. Kaidan would be proud.

“Have I just drunk too much seawater or does that cloud up there look like a dick?” Alphabet asked.

Red half-sat and raised an eyebrow at him, but his eyes were still focused on the sky. She glanced up and snorted. It fuckin’ _did_ look like a perfectly sculpted dick and balls. She was so caught up in laughing at the sight that she missed the approaching wave until Sheffield’s arm tightened around hers, giving her just enough warning to close her eyes and hold her breath until it passed. She shook the water out of her face and nudged Sheffield. “He’s right.”

“Heh.  Big ol’ veiny bastard, innit?” Shepard chuckled through a mouthful of seawater.  “It’s even cut to make it pretty.”

“Yeah, it is,” Alphabet said after the next wave. “Sheffield, that one across from it. Rabbit eating a bagel or kangaroo blowing smoke rings?”

“Are you children done making things up?” Leng sneered from the end. “We need to focus. Imagining pictures in clouds isn’t conducive.”

“Actually,” Alphabet said, his tone shifting from jocular to hard and frigid in an instant, “it is. If you’d like to sit here and watch the waves roll in, be my guest. But shut the fuck up before Jones gets squirrely and forgets to hold on.”

“Damn it, Leng, I just might,” Jones groused. “We don’t need dead weight.”

“Oh, I never, ever, ever, give a care about the weather, ‘cause the weather never ever gave a care about me,” Shepard sighed. “Shut the fuck up and look at the pretty clouds, y’all. Could be worse. Could be raining.”

“Shut your filthy whore mouth, Shepard,” Alphabet said, sitting up to shoot a grin at him. “Don’t jinx us like that. This is Rio. You don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.”

“Better make it worth my while, poptart,” he shot back with a smirk. “For all you know, I’m a fuckin’ Greek god who controls the weather.”

“Don’t go giving me ideas, _pryanichek_ ,[1]” Alphabet smirked.  

“HA. That sounds especially dirty, what with your accent ‘n all. Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, Preece-MAH- _triv_ et,” her battle chuckled. “Goddamn Ruskie.”

“‘Ruskie,’ eh? Your kind and mine have a long and storied history, you know. At least I know you’ll get my name right.” Alphabet’s wink turned into a grimace as he was slapped in the face by another wave.

“Now whose filthy mouth is gettin’ shut? See? Told you I controlled the weather. And with that comes the moon and tidal phases. So basically, I just made you my bitch with the ocean. Game, set, match.”

“Ooh. I think I just felt my dick move on that one,” Alphabet popped back.

“Sounds like a personal problem, cupcake.”

“ _Down_ , boys,” Red said, rolling salt-stung eyes. “Jack each other off in the shower if you need to, but I don’t think Sheffield and I are looking to get caught in the crossfire right at the moment.”

“Naw. You’d like it too much,” her battle snorted.

“Oh, damn. _Now_ what’m I supposed to do with the rest of my day?” she snarked, biting back a laugh and eyeing the surf. They still had a few seconds before the next one came in. “Sheffield, you still with us? You’re being awfully quiet.”

He stared up at the sky, biting back a grin and for once not clutching at her arm. “Just enjoying the ride. I got nothing to add to the conversation. Other than the dick cloud? It, uh...it ‘finished’. While you guys were talking about showers and shit. Entertaining as _hell._ ”

That startled a laugh out of her that ended with Red rolling onto her side to cough up the lungful of saltwater she inhaled. When she was fairly certain she wasn’t going to die, she shook her head with a weak grin. “Y’know, Sheffield, you’re alright.”

“I can’t do this,” Jones intoned suddenly. “I can’t...I can’t do it. Fuck this shit.”

Red coughed again and pulled herself up enough to look over him. “Yes, you can,” she said as firmly as she could manage. “Just a little longer. You got this.”

“C’mon, Jones,” Alphabet chided. “Pull it together. Nobody’s answered me about the rabbit or the kangaroo yet. What do you think?”

“I think I can’t fucking do this!” Jones shouted, unhooking his arms from Alphabet and Leng before standing up with a splash.

She recognized the blank, panicked glaze in his eyes and shrugged a shoulder. It didn’t matter what she said to him now. If _this_ was enough to send him there when green-as-grass Davis managed to hold the line against ten thousand batarians without reaching that point, he had no business here. But if his panic broke Sheffield, she was going to kick his ass.

Sheffield himself kept blinking up at the clouds, wincing every time a wave swelled, but he powered through. “Jake? What do you think that one over there is? Spaghetti monster? Or a ball of yarn someone’s cat puked up?”

 _‘Jake’, huh?_ It seemed Alphabet was the hero of the day. If she hadn’t been paying attention, she’d have said Sheffield had gone past fear almost to boredom. But for the occasional winces, he almost could have been lying on the dry beach instead of in the hated water. She was sending that up the chain. Alphabet had earned a point for that one.

“Cthulu,” he said, shifting slightly closer to Sheffield now that Leng was hooked to his other arm. “Definitely Cthulu. We’re boned.”

“Not if I strike ‘im dead with lightnin’,” her battle snickered wetly. “Brr _zap_. Done.”

“You’re just going to piss him off!” Alphabet said, his voice laced with fake horror.

“Next on ICT Live, smackdown between Zeus and Cthulu. Who will win? Answers after this next _wave_ ,” Red warned with a chuckle.

“Muthahumpin’ _ooo-rah_!” Shepard laughed, not even perturbed by the wave that covered them.  “No contest.”

“You’re right,” Alphabet shot back with his own sputtering laugh. “Cthulu has it in the bag.”

“Pff. Please. I’ll just toss you in his mouth before I zap ‘im. You’ll stick in his craw and fuckin’ choke him to death.”

Alphabet chortled. “I...have nothing. Zeus wins this round.”

If they could just get rid of Leng and Rheinscheld, this now had the potential to be a decent crew. If they got a decent replacement for Jones, maybe they’d get through the suck without too much shit. The bell rang, announcing his departure, but they ignored it. Who’d have fucking guessed that it would be Jones gone and Sheffield still figuratively standing? Maybe he’d make it after all.  

 

~*~*~*~

 

“What’s going on?”

Mark nodded at his battle, walking up to a small crowd was gathered outside the chow hall.  Shepherd was standing on the edge of it with her arms crossed and an impatient look on her face.  Blondie was leaning against the wall, arm thrown over eyes and crying, per usual.  

“Something set her off yet _again_ ,” she said between gritted teeth. “I dunno what it was this time. The fucking pancakes probably had a shape in them that looked like her kid’s favorite toy or something.” He pursed his lips into a thin line at that; much as Blondie annoyed the piss out of him, he tried not to take shots at anybody’s family.  She exhaled sharply through her nose and shook her head. “ _And_ I gotta deal with her. Swear to Christ, I’m sending her to the instructors for review if she pulls this shit again.”

She rolled her head on her shoulders before sighing. The scowl melted from her face and was instantly replaced by a look of understanding. She stepped forward and waved the crowd back. “Show’s over, guys. Back to chow. _Now_. Bertram, Shepard, you stay.”  She turned to Rheinscheld and gestured for her to follow a few feet away, taking them far enough that they could hear the tone of the words, but not what was being said. Shepherd placed a hand on Blondie’s shoulder, cocking her head to the side as she listened. Her voice carried over to them, friendlier than he ever knew she could be. _Will the real Shepherd please stand up?_  Blondie kept sobbing. Shepherd finally dropped her hand with a final few words and turned to face them, the compassion gone as quickly as it had appeared.

She waved a hand in the air as she approached him and muttered. “I can’t do a fucking thing with her. Think she’ll listen to you?”

“The fuck’m _I_ gonna say?” he grumbled at her as he brushed past her and stood in front of the weeping woman.  “Hey.  Jessica, right?”  She nodded, face hidden in both hands now.  “Mind if I join?”  No answer but another wet sob.  He sighed and leaned against the wall, sliding down until he was eye level with her.  “What’s goin’ on?”

“Lots of stuff, not like _you_ would care,” came the sniffled retort.  He blinked slowly.  She wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?  That’s worth somethin’.”  She peered blearily through her fingers at him.  “Why don’t you start with the smallest thing first?  Otherwise I’m going to start guessin’ and that will take all day.”

Blondie scoffed. “You’re horrible at cheering somebody up, you know that?”  Her hands dropped a bit and she scowled at him.

“Yeah, it’s, uh.  It’s a bad habit.  I’m a little out of practice, but oh well. Since you haven’t said anything yet, I’m gonna start guessin’.  Someone stole your sweetroll.”  She pursed her lips and shook her head.  “Your battle dyed your underwear purple.”  Another shake of her head and a sniff.  “Um.  All the shoelaces from your left boots snapped.”  That garnered a little snort and another headshake. “You gotta help me out, here, because I’m drawin’ blanks.  Uh, someone plastic-wrapped your toilet this morning.  Ate your bar of soap?  Naw.  Ate all the marshmallows out of the cereal before you could get any this morning.  That has to be it.”

Each new thing he listed received a head shake and a wavering grin.  At the very least, she had stopped fucking sobbing.  Progress.  He furrowed his brow and rolled his lips inward a moment, pretending to think.

“Well, if it’s not any of those, it has to be a little deeper, I’d hazard a guess.”

“You’ve already ‘hazarded’ more than just one…” she sniffed.  He chuckled and patted her forearm.  

“I did indeed.  Let’s try another tactic. A trade, of sorts.  I tell you something nobody knows about me and you tell me what’s stormcloudin’ up those pretty eyes of yours.  Deal?”  Blondie ducked her head, cheeks lightly tinged.

“Deal,” she whispered.

“I bet you I am the only one who pronounces your last name proper.”  

“Oh?”

“ _Ja. Rheinscheld._ ” He rolled the ‘r’ and hardened the ‘d’ at the end.  Her mouth dropped open a little. _“Ich kann ein bisschen Deutsch sprechen. Können Sie?_ ”[2]

She shook her head again, blush spreading across her nose.  He gave her a half grin.

“Any idea what I just said?”

“Probably you speak German and asked if I did, too?”

“Close enough.  You got the meaning.  Aight.  Your turn.  What’s troublin’ you?”  He shifted against the rough cement, uniform catching.

“I...I don’t really want to say.  It’s stupid, I…”

Mark raised his eyebrows, waiting.  Blondie covered her eyes again and whispered, “I miss my family.   _So. Damn. Much_.  And the minute we got here, they just... _ugh_! There’s no break.  Not _one_.  Twenty hour days?  Four to sleep?  Are you kidding me?  There’s no _time_ to do _any_ thing!  I can’t even talk to my husband.  And they don’t let you even send an email when you arrive, either, so...”

“Yeah.  I get it.  But I bet you sent one the minute we got back to barracks. Right?”  She rubbed her finger under her nose and nodded.  “Ok, then.  This is N school...this is the big time.  They’re not gonna go easy because once you get through this, you’re not gonna go easy, either.  They saw somethin’ in you that made them think you could do it.  Sacrifice, right?  It’s what we all do to be here.”   He patted her arm again and received a watery smile in return.  “So why don’t you take a few minutes to collect yourself again and then join the rest of us?  And maybe I’ll tell you something else, too.”

She sniffled again but she looked marginally brighter at the prospect.  Small blessings. “Just maybe?”

“Gotta make it worth my while, darlin’.  That’s the deal.  It’s still on the table.  Don’t forget that.” He pushed himself off the wall and moved back towards the other two with a gusty sigh.  

“I dunno what you did, but you deserve a goddamn medal for getting her to stop,” Shepherd muttered.

“Distracted and diffused for the moment.  That’s all that matters,” he muttered back.  “SSDD.” The three of them stood in silence a moment, looking at each other dumbly.

“I just...I dunno, I’ve _never_ had to deal with a battle like this before.  Or even a roommate like this in general,” Bertram murmured, incredulous. “I mean, what do you even _do_ when she just randomly bursts into tears?”

Mark rubbed his jaw with one hand, thinking.  Random his ass.  Emotional output of _that_ magnitude usually had a root cause.  Blondie herself cited her family as the source, but there had to be triggers.  They needed to see if there was a pattern.  “Aside from ignorin’ it?  Fucked if _I_ know.  Hey, uh.  When does she usually start carryin’ on?  What’s the usual pattern for the day?”

“We get up.  She checks email.  Tries not to cry. Cries.  PT.  Chow.  More PT or classroom, checks email.  Tries not to cry.  Cries.  Chow.  More PT or classroom.  Cries.  Chow.  Cries.  Study time.  I think she checks email again before we bed down, sobs inconsolably.”

He nodded.  “Anybody else see it?  It’s gotta be the mail.  I’d guess it’s probably from home, sets the tone for the day.”  

“Whatever the cause, for the love of goddamn Christ, that woman needs to pull up her fucking big girl panties and stop with the fucking whining or ring the fuck out. She’s worse than surf torture," Shepherd sighed, exasperated. Bertram cleared her throat and they looked over to see Blondie’s battle buddy looking pointedly behind him. Shepherd mouthed ‘ _Fuck_ ’ with a roll of her eyes. Rheinscheld stormed past them, crying again. _All that shit for nothing. Way to fuckin’ go, femShep._

“Rheinscheld!” she called out, turning toward the blonde. The woman stopped, but didn’t face her. Shepherd glanced over her shoulder at him and whispered, “Kirkland’s on the duty roster this morning, right?” He nodded.  “Shit. He’ll just coddle her ass.” She pursed her lips and turned back to the blonde. “Sick call. _Now_. Go see the fuckin’ shrink, talk to a professional who can maybe help you deal with this shit because this is not the place or time. When you finish, get back to the squad. After chow this evening, report to DI Moreno for review. Bertram, make sure she actually _talks_ to someone.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

DI Moreno tapped commands into the haptic display, changing the layout of the holographic field before them. Mark watched closely as the new terrain came into view.  Classroom was a relief from the bone-grinding PT they’d been doing almost nonstop, but only just.  Scenarios, tactics, endless reading of declassified mission reports and debriefs, maneuvers, and repetition of all of the above ad nauseum was just as draining.  It was the mental side of it this time, though.  He grit his teeth and moved a half step into Shepherd’s space, forcing her forward towards the display a bit; Blondie kept brushing her arm against his and enough was e-fuckin-nough. Shepherd scowled and glanced back at him.  He quirked an eyebrow in response, giving a slight nod to his three and she followed it.  The furrow in her brow smoothed out and she stepped forward again, giving him more room.  He barely nudged her with his elbow, hoping she’d get it as the ‘thanks’ it was supposed to be.  It must’ve worked; a corresponding bump from her elbow onto his belt buckle made him bite back a grin.  Thank whatever deity was out there that she wasn’t any shorter.

“Rheinscheld.  You’re up.  Examine the field, think about how you’re going to achieve your objective.” The objective was a building containing important intel. Moreno then called up an image of a Mako beside a cliff through which ran a narrow chasm.  Mark chewed on his lower lip, thinking about the conundrum.  A path to the building existed, yeah, but it was too close to fit the tank through it.  The last leg would have to be approached on foot. Moreno then set up holos of hostiles within the corridor itself and snipers on the tops of the cliffs surrounding it.

_Fuckin’ killbox.  Damn._

At least there was some cover, though depending on how intelligent and nimble the drones were might negate it.  He’d want to push forward as fast as he could and set the techies on the drone problem.  He could take care of the snipers himself with biotics no problem, a well placed singularity would yank them out of cover and make them pretty blue-painted targets.  Beyond the chasm was a cluster of buildings guarded by mechs, including a single large one that would be a goddamn pain in the ass to take down without a tank. Blondie and her team would have to face it on the ground if they wanted to get in the building with the intel. Sneaking past was not an option, either, since the door was encrypted and the techs would presumably still be preoccupied with the drones until it was clear they didn’t have any in reserve. That heavy mech would be a problem for sure.

“Select your team and infiltrate the building,” Moreno said, stepping back.

Blondie glanced at DI Kirkland in the darkness beyond the lit up display before directing avatars of herself and the Pastore twins into the chasm. _Huh...interesting choices_. Moreno immediately questioned her on it and she said, “Jack is an engineer. Cat can overload shields and electronics. She isn’t just a sniper.”  _Well, hot damn.  There_ are _a couple of brain cells left to rub together._  He wouldn’t have picked a sniper himself; he did the majority of his biotics at range and most engineers prefered to send drones and stay out of sight if they could.  Another long distance hitter added nothing, but he could see how the tech aspect was appealing.  He just wasn’t sure if that was strong enough to trump the distance disadvantage she built in.  Close walls in the chasm meant bottlenecking was possible and with that, getting right up in someone’s face was all too real a threat.  He blinked, watching the twins out of the side of his eye.  They were, ah...a strange duo.  He tried to block the thought of being deployed with one of his brothers on the same mission.  Not like it fuckin’ mattered.

Shepherd shook her head and muttered under her breath, “Not sound. She’s target-blind. Too much tech. Team’s imbalanced. No close-range and if one of the twins goes down, she’ll likely lose the other, too.”  He pursed his lips in amusement and barely nudged her again.  They thought alike, apparently.

Blondie moved the avatars through the chasm in a leapfrog pattern, then sent Jack and his drone in first to set up a defensive position and engage hostiles at close range.  All in all not a terrible strategy, he had to admit, and he’d probably do something similar himself.   Blondie had left Cat at the rear to cover their backs. Also fairly logical, he begrudgingly thought.  She’d basically made a sandwich out of the three of them with the techies as the bread.  Best thing she _could_ do, considering she was the weakest link in their squad against the types of enemies they were tasked with facing down.

The holo avatars reached a wide area in the chasm where there were paths carved in the rock that led to the top. She directed Cat to one side of the cliffs while she went to the other. She said, “In this, um...situation, Jack with his turret and drone is worth three fighters on the ground.  And then Cat and I can take out the snipers above, then use crossfire down into the valley to take out anything that he can’t handle.”

“Clean and surgical,” Cat said. “I like it.”

When they reached the outpost, Blondie directed the other two into place and took cover behind a large metal crate. “Now, what?” she muttered to herself. ‘ _Now what’ indeed...that probably should have been somethin' to consider_ before _getting there, dipshit_. After a moment, she nodded to herself and toggled a few action commands on the haptic interface.  A chain overload from Cat took out the first wave of smaller mechs while she set up a sabotage for the second wave that would temporarily turn them to her side.   _Good ol’ techie-techs for takin’ out the mechie-mechs._  Meanwhile, Jack’s turret provided cover fire for them. Blondie then turned the squad to face the heavy-mech-full-of-heavy-mech-heavy-tech and after Cat and Jack had worn down its shields, they began to use tech bursts to burn through its armor.  Christ, he was fuckin’ tired.

When it was done, Moreno paused the display, stats on the board.  “Alright,” he said, looking around at them, “Certainly one way to get it done.  What would you have done different?  Go.”

“I...wouldn’t have done anything different, sir.  I chose who I thought would best complement my own strengths and fit the situation.  And we got it done.”  She looked at Kirkland again.

Kirkland tipped his head back and forth. “That’s...one way to do it. You did accomplish the objective, but there’s always room for improvement. Anyone else want to take a stab at what could have been done better?”

Shepherd shook her head again. “She may have succeeded, but she could have done it a lot easier if she hadn’t been so short-sighted. Enemies don’t always have to be faced head-on.” She stepped forward to take control of the avatars and directed the engineer to the flank. “You’re right that Gioachino is worth three fighters on the ground, Rheinscheld, but you wasted his potential. If you’d sent him _here_ , his turret could have held off the second wave of mechs while he and his drone divided the heavy mech’s attention. Sabotaging the mechs first would have upped your numbers while they fought among themselves, minimizing the overall number of targets you had to fight and letting Caterina overload ‘em once the sabotage wore off. While the smaller mechs were occupied, you could have focused on the real threat, taken it down, and then picked off the remaining stragglers with far less risk to yourself and your team. And given the proximity of the buildings in the compound, two snipers--even if one is heavily tech-based--is redundant. You’d have done better with someone more suited to close range to round out your team.”

 _Not just a short hatrack, then.  Huh._  Shepherd and he had similar ideas on why the squad config was whack, but she’d made even better choices than he did in his head.

“Ugh,” the male twin grimaced. “Just Jack, please. At least you said it right.”

Moreno nodded to Blondie. “You’re their leader. That doesn’t mean that you have to do the majority of the fighting even when you’re the least suited to do so. If this was a scenario involving numerous targets at a distance or where you could have utilized stealth, then it would be right for you to be the primary one to engage. You were _not_ in this. Smart tactics also entail knowing when to hold yourself back and fully utilize your team. Additionally, while a tech-heavy team is sensible, keep in mind that a strong biotic, like Shepard, can crush a heavy mech. Mechanical targets don’t necessitate a purely tech-based squad. Thinking outside the box is a useful skill here.”

Small, muffled sniffles escaped from her.  “You got it done, Rheinscheld.  You did it.  Mission accomplished.  Just...try to see that there isn’t always just one answer to a question, or one solution to a problem.  Ok?”  Kirkland tilted his head to the side, trying to catch Blondie’s gaze and Mark heard a disgusted sigh from his battle.  _Agreed, little girl.  Best lesson in all this shit is blue eyes and tears get you far._

“Oh...okay,” Blondie wavered, rubbing her nose and giving the instructor a wan smile.  Mark bit his bottom lip, trying not to laugh: Shepherd had turned her head under the guise of adjusting a strap on her side but he caught her rolling her eyes before straightening up again.  

_Same._

 

~*~*~*~

 

The crush of people immediately outside the barracks was annoying as shit as Mark tried to shove his way to the entrance; they had more classroom next and he needed his datapad.  Shepherd had gotten lost in the crowd.  If she didn’t turn up while he was getting his stuff prepped, he’d just grab hers, too, and text her he had it.  Maybe they could stop by the pit before class as well, if only he could elbow his way through.  It wasn’t unusual to have high traffic in and out of the barracks at certain hours, but god _damn_ this was ridiculous.  The really weird thing was they all were knotted together in between the two buildings and facing up.  Some were pointing.  Come to think of it, the crowd was rather hushed for the amount of people gathered.  He glanced up at what they were focused on and did a double take.

It was Rheinscheld.

And she was standing on the sixth floor open air walkway wall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Glossary:_  
> 
> [1] pryanichek - Russian, gingerbread man
> 
> [2] Ich kann ein bisschen Deutsch sprechen. Können Sie? - German, I can speak a little German. Can you?


	6. For Whom the Bell Tolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Yet here's a spot.  
>  Out, damned spot! out, I say!--One: two: why,  
> then, 'tis time to do't.--Hell is murky!--Fie, my  
> lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we  
> fear who knows it, when none can call our power to  
> account?--Yet who would have thought the old man  
> to have had so much blood in him.  
> The thane of Fife had a wife: where is she now?--  
> What, will these hands ne'er be clean?--No more o'  
> that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with  
> this starting.  
> Here's the smell of the blood still: all the  
> perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little  
> hand. Oh, oh, oh!  
> Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so  
> pale.--I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he  
> cannot come out on's grave.  
> To bed, to bed! there's knocking at the gate:  
> come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's  
> done cannot be undone.--To bed, to bed, to bed!"_ ~Lady MacBeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it in last chapter, **TRIGGER WARNINGS**. After all, _"To bed, to bed, to bed...."_

**_Unbreakable_** , by Kate_Shepard and potionsmaster

 

Rating: E for sex, drugs, rock n’ roll, and country.  Otherwise known as ‘Violence out the wazoo’ and actual country.  (Country needs a warning label.)  Heed the warnings and tags, kiddies.  It ain’t pretty.

 

 **Chapter 6:** _For Whom the Bell Tolls_

 

_~*~*~*~_

 

Red slipped into place beside Shepard, following the direction of his gaze. Rheinscheld was on the railing of the walkway between the barracks and CQ. Alone. Where the hell was Bertram? Where were the instructors? She cursed and began pushing through the crowd with Shepard at her six. She ordered the soldiers ahead of her to move and they parted, leaving Red and Shepard at the front of the press of bodies.

She was team lead. Shit like this was part of her job, but there was no way she’d be able to get up to her in time and she didn’t have the first clue what to say to the damn woman to talk her down. There was a reason for the dashed lines on the inside of her wrists. The idea of cutting through the perforations was so ridiculous that it was enough to snap her out when the memories became too strong. When she got to that point, nothing anyone else could say would change her mind. What she _could_ do, though, was buy time for someone better equipped to arrive. Blondie was an attention whore. She could use that.   

“Alphabet, get the instructors!” she snapped.

“Bertram’s already gone,” he said without taking his eyes off the woman.

“Rheinscheld, wait!” she called up. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What do you care, Shepherd?” Blondie shouted back, her face twisting in a grimace. “You _hate_ me!”

“I don’t hate you,” Red replied. Blondie annoyed her, but really, she felt nothing toward the woman. She was a nuisance, an obstacle to work around, nothing more. “I push you hard because I see your potential. Look, get down and we’ll talk about this, alright?”

“There’s nothing to fucking talk about!” Blondie wailed. “It’s all _over_ ! I can’t do _anything_ right!”

“If you’re done with ICT, fine. Ring the damn bell!  But you don’t get to spend two weeks crying over how much you miss your family and then leave them permanently. Get down from there and _go home_ , Rheinscheld!”

“I don’t _have_ one!” Blondie screeched down at her. “He _left me!_ He found another woman and he took my baby and he _left!_ ”

“Oh, shit,” Red muttered, glancing over her shoulder at Shepard. That was a problem beyond her paygrade.

Her battle raised his eyebrows at her with an almost imperceptible shrug. Where the hell were the damn instructors? Around them, people called out ‘Don’t do it,’ ‘It isn’t worth it,’ and other meaningless platitudes. Scenarios like this were covered in OCS. Red wracked her brain for the techniques that had been taught. Make a personal connection, build a rapport, keep them talking. She hadn’t managed to build a rapport with Blondie in the two weeks they’d been here, but she hadn’t tried. Red didn’t particularly care if she jumped; however, she didn’t relish the idea of taking orders from another member of the boat crew and if she lost one of her people in the first two weeks, she’d be stripped of her position. Sheffield, or maybe Shepard, she could handle, but gods forbid, what if they chose Leng instead? Besides, they needed to get to class and the sooner this was done, the sooner she could continue with her day.

She had to build a connection and it had to be a good one. Which meant announcing information about herself, letting them see her weakness. But no one knew her history. She could say anything. She didn’t have to tell the truth. She just had to make Blondie believe it. She’d been lying about her background her entire adult life. Hell, Thane had provided her with a perfect backstory.

“Look, uh…” She dropped her voice. “What’s her first name?”

“Jessica,” Shepard answered almost blithely, gaze unblinking as he continued to stare up at her.

“ _Jessica_. Your son’s still here. He may not live with you right now, but that doesn’t really change anything from the way it stands now and it doesn’t mean he doesn’t still need you. You can trust me on that. My parents died a few years ago. That’s why I joined the Alliance. And I still miss my mom every goddamn day.”

“He won’t miss me,” Blondie sniveled, but she’d crouched on the ledge rather than standing on it and was no longer looking at the concrete. The people around them had fallen silent, even their breathing softened, creating the illusion that it was just her and Blondie. “He’s only three. He won’t even remember me.”

“Yeah, he will,” she said, thinking of her real mother. “He’ll remember your voice talking to him. And when he’s walking down the street and smells something that smells like you, he’ll get flashes of you and he’ll miss you. If nothing else, he’ll feel the void you leave. No one else is going to be able to step in and take that place, no matter how much they try.” Tuco’s mom had tried with Red and had failed. “He needs you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Blondie whimpered. “No one needs me. I fail at _everything!_ I can’t even get a stupid training exercise right! I failed at being a wife. I failed at being a mom. I’m failing at ICT.” Rheinscheld stood again, inching closer to the edge. She ran the back of her hand under her nose, her sniffle echoing around the concrete walls.

“Because you haven’t really _tried_ ,” Red said as the door to the sixth floor barracks banged open. Kirkland barreled through with Bertram hard on his heels. Blondie’s head snapped around to look at them and she moved closer to the edge. _Get her attention back, Red._ “You haven’t had a single day when you’ve really been here and put your all into it. You’re still back home with them. That isn’t going to cut it here. You’ve got to put your big girl panties on and deal with it.”

“Screw you, Shepherd!” Blondie shouted, her eyes darting between Red and Kirkland. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You don’t feel shit about _anything_. You’re _dead_ inside!” She moved closer to the edge until the toes of her boots were visible over it, and shouted for Kirkland and Bertram to stay back.

“You’re right!” Red called out. “I am. Have been since my family died. But I’m still here. I haven’t quit yet. The difference is that your family isn’t dead, Jess! It’s just been rearranged a little.”

“My family is a _lie_ , Shepherd! He’s been cheating on me the whole time we were together!” Blondie bawled.

 _Well, that explains her obsession with Shepard and Sheffield._ Maybe mShep was the better choice to talk to her. She looked up at him to ask when the crowd gasped. The shouts of horror and shocked expressions on their faces told her without looking what had happened. She watched Shepard’s clear blue eyes track the fall. The body landed with a thud behind her, blood spattering onto their boots and pant legs. Shepard’s face remained impassive. He could have been watching a piece of fruit lobbed onto the concrete for all the reaction he gave.

As if belatedly realizing that he was supposed to display _something_ , he glanced around, taking in the shock and horror. Alphabet stood a few feet away, his mouth parted slightly and his gray eyes wide. Cat, the feline woman she’d noted the first day and female half the actual twin pair in their platoon, had her hand over her mouth and moisture welling in her eyes. Beside her, her brother, Jack, had a firm grip on her hand and his eyes were distant. Cat buried her face in his shoulder and he looped an arm around hers, holding her tightly. Sheffield blanched, swallowing hard and glancing between the body and the cement half-wall she’d jumped from.  Even Leng’s typical sneer had turned to a grimace of disgust as he looked down at the gray matter on his boot.

Shepard turned his gaze down to his uniform, casually flicking a blob of... _some_ thing organic...off his thigh, muttering, “Well, _that’s_ not somethin’ you see everyday…” Red’s eyes widened slightly and she bit back the grin that tried to curl her lips. That motherfucker. He was faking it just as much as she was. No wonder they’d started to click recently. _Like sees like_ . _Even when it doesn’t realize it at first._ Extreme PTSD? Made sense, given what she knew of his history. She’d been diagnosed in rehab, blamed on the Blitz and the supposed loss of her parents. She’d give a good amount of credits to look at his psych profile, but it didn’t matter what the label was. He was like her.

Which meant she didn’t have to hide it with him. _What a fucking relief_. No more faking emotion she didn’t feel. No more pretending to be ‘normal’. Hell, he’d probably feel more comfortable with her without all the pretense. And unless he was an utter and total psychopath, he could still form connections, too, which meant it was still possible that they could truly have each other’s six. Hell, if the bond that was starting to form was reciprocated, he might actually be the first _real_ , ride-or-die battle buddy she’d had. She just had to figure out how much was acting and how much was real.

Above them, Kirkland still lay over the ledge, his arm dangling down with a scrap of fabric between his fingers. Bertram’s hands were braced on the railing and she looked down at the body splattered on the ground below. Even from here, Red could see that the blood had drained from her face and her shoulders were shaking. Red finally turned her attention to the body that had landed a few feet from her. She cocked her head, evaluating. From the angle, she judged that Blondie had taken a swan dive. Her skull had ruptured like a melon on contact with the concrete and her body splayed at unnatural angles over it. It wasn’t the worst she’d seen.

Moreno ran along the line, his arms spread, trying to push them back. His olive skin paled at the sight of the body and his chin trembled for an instant before firming. “Back!  Everybody _back_. Show’s over. Report to your barracks until further notice!” he ordered.

Red caught Shepard’s eye and gestured with her head. It seemed class was cancelled for the day. The break would give them time to catch up on their studying, detail the room for inspection tomorrow, and maybe even get a little extra rest. Hell Week started on Monday and they’d need all they could get to get through it. Kaidan had given her an idea of what to expect. Five days, four total hours of sleep. Constant activity otherwise. Breaks, if they came, would be earned by winning and short-lived. If they made it through the week, it would be smooth sailing through the rest of N1. Still difficult, but they were virtually guaranteed to see graduation after that.

Alphabet and Sheffield came up to them as she and Shepard walked away from the scene, their faces pale. Alphabet placed a hand on her shoulder and she fought the urge to shrug it off. He was crew and had proven himself thus far. It was fine. His features softened. “You did your best. Her will to end it just overcame your will to stop it.”

What was he expecting? What was the appropriate response here? Guilt? Remorse? She couldn’t feel that, but she could approximate it. She sighed, letting her shoulders drop. “My best wasn’t good enough, was it?”

“You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved,” he said, lightly chafing her upper arm before letting his hand drop. “Not your fault.”

 _No shit, Sherlock_.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Mark tried not to let Sheffield see him stiffen a bit as they fell in behind Shepherd and Alphabet; not the guy’s fault he was a ringer for what Mark thought his youngest brother would have looked like if he’d been given the chance to grow up.  Not that he’d ever _tell_ anybody that, either.  If he concentrated on his voice and personality instead, it was alright.  Sheffield stared at the back of Alphabet’s head, blue eyes wide and unseeing.

“Terrible...” he murmured, “Absolutely terrible. I can’t believe it.”

“What is?” Mark asked distractedly, trying to ignore the stares the others were giving their little group.  His not-quite twin gave him a strange look.

“ _Rheinscheld_.  Her...yeah…”

“Oh…” Mark blinked.  “ _Oh_.  Yeah.  Terrible…”  

Sheffield gave him a cautious look, brow furrowed.  “...Are you ok?  I mean, I know you guys were close, but it’s not your fault at all for her jumping.  I mean, I told her ‘no’ just as much as you did.  She was married, after all.”

He blinked again and scoffed.  “ _Close_ ?  Hell, naw.  Just because she hung around and I tried to cheer her up some did not mean we were _close_ ...Christ, man, she just wanted someone to say, ‘poor baby’ and pat her on the ass to tell her she was a good fuckin’ girl.”  Sheffield’s mouth dropped open in astonishment and Mark tempered his response a bit.   _Ease down_.  “Sorry, man…” he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.  “It just...I’m still in shock, I guess.  Makes me short-tempered.”  

That seemed to placate the other man. _Good.  Easy reason and easily played up._  They made the rest of the way up to their floor in silence, each in their own thoughts.  Shepherd toggled their door to unlock as the other two men continued down the hallway in a somber march.  The door shut behind them and she perched on the end of her bed, stripping her boots off.

“Well. That was intense,” she said.

“Yeah, that’s one word to describe it,” he muttered, kicking off his own boots and dropping his fatigue pants in favor for his sweats.  _Eau de blood of Blondie_ was not exactly something he wanted to wear at the moment.

“Hell Week’s gonna suck. We’re two short now.” She stripped her own fatigue pants off, carefully balling them up and carrying them into the bathroom. “And we can’t make it up from the other teams.”

“We gotta ‘adapt and overcome’,” he sighed, making air quotes as he threw himself on his bed.  “Glad I’m not on clean up detail, that’s all I gotta say.  Gross.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, leaning a shoulder against the doorway and gesturing to herself. “I need a shower. Didn’t get back far enough. I’ve got no problem getting dirty, but this is a bit much.”

“Don’t let me stop you…”  He peeled off his shirt with a sigh and tossed it on top of his pants next to his bed; laundry could be done a little later today when he needed a break from classroom reading.

“Ok, I won’t,” came the amused and snappy comeback. He glanced over just in time to catch her eyeing him before tugging her own shirt off and shaking out her long, red hair out of its neat bun.  It flowed in fiery waves through her fingers as she collected all the hairpins in her palm before tossing her curls over her shoulder and sauntering into the bathroom.  The door closed with a soft ‘click’ and he stared at it a moment; that was the single most girly thing he’d ever seen her do.

 _Huh_.  

 

~*~*~*~

 

<Chat Request>  
<to: kyalenko@alliance.xnet>  
<from: krshepherd@alliance.xnet

<KS: One of my crew jumped from a balcony yesterday.>

<KA: Oh, my God. I am so sorry. Are you ok? Did you see it?>

<KS: I’m alright. Yeah. She landed a couple feet away. I was trying to talk her down and one of the instructors moved on her at the wrong moment.>

<KA: Jesus, Kate. That’s terrible. It’s not your fault, you know.>

<KS: I know. She made her choice. The bell was right by the door. She could have rung it a hundred times. She’d made the decision before she even climbed the stairs. I doubt I could have changed her mind even if Kirkland hadn’t moved.>

<KA: Damn. I don’t know what to say. And right before Hell Week, too.>

<KS: Yeah. Between Jones ringing out during surf torture and Rheinscheld, we’re two short on our boat crew in a matter of days. I don’t know where they’re going to pull from, though. The other crews all have eight. One team’s going to be short regardless unless they pull from another platoon.>

<KA: How’s the rapport between the ones that are left?>

<KS: Outside of Leng, we’re coming together. It’s just my battle, the aquaphobic guy--who rocked surf torture, by the way--Alphabet, and Bertram. She’ll get slid over to him.>

<KA: She’s going to need an abundance of fortitude to get through it. And so are you. If they leave your team short, it won’t be for the entirety of Hell Week. People drop like flies that week, so the teams will be in constant flux. It’ll just be a matter of holding out until the numbers allow for people to slide in. It won’t be easy. Don’t expect considerations for it. You’ll just have to remember to work smarter, not harder. Sleep and eat this weekend. If you’re awake, you need to be eating, even if it’s just nutrigel. It’s the advice I’d give regardless, but it’s even more important now. Everything will be harder with fewer people to share the load.>

<KS: Your instructor’s coming out.>

<KA: Heh, sorry. Easier to turn to that sometimes. Stay focused. Losing a crewmember is hard, but don’t let it take you out of the game. I still believe in you and I’m still proud of you.>

<KS: Thanks, K. Miss you.>   

<KA: Miss you, too. I requested my class schedule for the year. We’ll see if any of our breaks line up when I get it.>

<KS: Sounds good. Gotta run. Just got to the smoker’s pit and Alphabet looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin. Fill you in later.>

  


“Did you hear the news?” Alphabet asked when she closed her omni-tool.

“What news?” she asked.

“Rheinscheld wasn’t even supposed to _be_ here,” he said. “There was an admin screw-up somewhere along the line. Apparently, _Jennifer_ Rheinscheld was the one supposed to get the invite. Their service numbers are one off from each other. A six instead of a nine or something like that. Anyway, regardless of the reason, she was never intended to be invited. Which explains why she couldn’t handle it. I’m honestly surprised she got this far.”

“Where’d you hear that from?” Shepard asked skeptically.   

“Cat overheard Moreno and Kirkland talking.” Sheffield said quietly, appearing next to Alphabet’s shoulder with a small nudge. “We were talking shop at chow yesterday after it... _happened_ ,” he swallowed. Alphabet bumped the other man back gently, surreptitiously inclining his head towards Sheffield. Red quirked an eyebrow at them.

“FemShep!” Kirkland’s voice cut through their discussion. She turned to find him glowering at her. “Report to the board for review!”    

 _Fuck_. She’d been expecting it, but that didn’t make hearing the order any easier. Review board. Where the cadre would scrutinize every call she’d made with Rheinscheld over the past two weeks and then decide her fate. She could be kicked out, rolled back, stripped of her position, any number of things. She had no control over what happened next. Shepard cast a look down at her as they fell in behind Kirkland.

The DI led them through HQ and gestured to one of the meeting rooms and disappeared into his office. She squared her shoulders before going into the nondescript room. Drill Instructors Torres, Moreno, and Williams waited at a wide metal folding table with datapads stacked in front of them. Their faces were as expressionless as she’d expected them to be, giving no sign as to how this would go.

Torres was a wild card. She hated Shepard, but her vitriol didn’t seem to extend to Red except as collateral damage. She suspected the woman felt even less than she or Shepard did and recognized what Red herself had only recently seen. For some reason, though, she didn’t mind Red, but seemed determined to break Shepard. Would she see this as another step toward that goal? If she did, Red could count on her opposition.

Moreno was nothing if not fair. He was likely to listen to everything she said and go with the evidence. If he had hidden agendas, she hadn’t uncovered them yet. He didn’t play favorites and he didn’t take things personally. His entire goal at least appeared to be to get as many of them through the program as he could. It wasn’t unheard of for him to slip a ration bar to a fading cadet or to call one who was struggling into his office for counseling. He was one of the hands-down favorites.

Williams, she didn’t know except by sight. He’d been pulled from one of the other platoons, probably to serve as a neutral party. Tall, dark-skinned, lean but for the muscle roping his forearms, he gave the appearance of being stern but patient. His hands were folded in front of him and the brown eyes that met hers were calm and direct. If her evaluation of him was right, she might have a chance at not being dismissed.

Torres shuffled her datapads and began. “Lieutenant Shepherd, I assume you know why you’re here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she answered, shifting her gaze to look at the stern blonde.

When the light hit right, Red could pick up the gray strands buried in her close-cropped hair and the thin lines bracketing narrow lips set in a square jaw. Likely in her late forties, the instructor nevertheless kept up with even the youngest cadets. “And why is that, Lieutenant?”

“A member of my boat crew committed suicide yesterday, ma’am.” As if it needed to be said. There was nothing else they could call her to task on.

Moreno cocked his head and steepled his fingers. “Lieutenant Rheinscheld jumped from the sixth story walkway, Shepherd, and we’ve gotten reports that the two of you had been at odds. Your performance both in PT and classroom work has been excellent. We’re seeing your team begin to come together under your guidance. But now one of your crew is dead. Drill Instructor Kirkland feels that your leadership is an indirect cause. We’d like to find out if that’s the case.”

She didn’t respond. If they asked her a direct question, she would answer, but they wouldn’t get anything more than she had to give. She had done nothing wrong, but if they were on a witch hunt, she needed to be cautious in her answers.  

Williams said quietly, “You don’t seem overly affected by this, Lieutenant.” His brow furrowed when she didn’t respond. “I’m waiting, Shepherd.”

“I didn’t realize there was a question, sir,” she said.

“I’d like an explanation,” he replied, briefly lifting one of his hands from the other.

There were areas in which she would feel comfortable revealing her condition, but at the moment, telling them that Blondie had meant as little to her as the table at which they sat did to them would likely be unwise. She took a moment to gather her thoughts before saying, “Sir, on Elysium, I watched the soldiers I’d rallied die to the last man. I watched civilians die in droves. If I broke down every time someone died under my watch, I wouldn’t be able to function and support the remaining members of my team. They’re looking to me to get them through this and that means I have to be solid for them.”

 _There_. All factually if not functionally true statements. Never mind that she _wouldn’t_ break down over someone dying under her watch. If she did, she wouldn’t be fit to do her job.  

Moreno said, “When Lieutenant Rheinscheld and I spoke Wednesday, she stated that she had attempted to discuss her issues with you and that you had faked sympathy and then made derisive remarks about her to your battle buddy in front of her. Is that true?”  

Red said, “Sir, I found Rheinscheld crying outside the mess hall and attempted to counsel her again. She was resistant, so I requested that Lieutenant Shepard speak with her because she seemed to...look up to him. He did and when he was finished, I expressed frustration to him in what I believed to be a private conversation. I wasn’t aware that Lieutenant Rheinscheld was within earshot. I admit my situational awareness in that scenario was less than stellar, but it wasn’t my intention to disparage her within her hearing. When I realized she’d overheard, I sent her to sick call to speak with a therapist and referred her to you after training.”

Torres tapped the screen on one of her datapads. “Instructor Kirkland said that before she jumped, you told Lieutenant Rheinscheld to ‘pull up her big girl panties and deal with it.’ What made you think that was an appropriate statement to make to a woman standing on a ledge preparing to jump?”

That one was easy and could lead to a thread of conversation in which she could turn the failure back onto them where it ultimately belonged.  “Ma’am, Rheinscheld was focusing on Instructor Kirkland and moving closer to the edge to put space between them. I thought that if I could return her attention to me, she would pay less attention to him, giving him time to get to her. I had already attempted to connect with her over similar life circumstances. I’d attempted to reassure her. At that point, I felt the quickest recourse would be to shock her enough that she would focus on me again. The point that I was making and what he didn’t hear was that she had spent her time here dwelling on her family rather than training, which I believe contributed to her emotional state.”

Moreno said, “What would you say _ultimately_ caused the breakdown?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

That was the opening she needed. She drew her chin up and said,: “Sir, if the rumors I’ve heard are accurate, Rheinscheld was never meant to be in this program to begin with. Her presence was an error. She didn’t have the skills or the experience to handle the training. Additionally, she has been displaying signs of depression from the first day. She’d been counseled by her battle buddy, _my_ battle buddy, myself, the cadre, and at least one therapist. If she was in a condition where overhearing me issue a complaint to my battle buddy against her was enough to make her suicidal, then that should have been identified and she should have been removed from the program days ago. I failed as her team lead, but the cadre and medical staff failed her as well. Had I been aware that her problems were as deep-seated as I now realize, I would have taken additional steps to make that happen, but I’m not a trained therapist and she failed to give me all of the information I would have needed to make that determination. This was a multi-faceted problem that required a multi-level response that unfortunately was not given.”

Williams nodded once. “Step out of the room, please.”

She went out to the hallway where Shepard waited and leaned a shoulder against the wall. The instructors were barely audible in background, but she made a strained and failed attempt to hear their deliberations.  A quick glance at her battle buddy showed him raising his eyebrows at her.  She shrugged back at him.   _Worth a shot to try to hear.  Like you wouldn’t, mShep._

“Lieutenant Shepherd.” Williams’ voice summoned her from within the room. She raised a brow at Shepard and shrugged at him again before returning to the cadre.

When she stood at parade rest in front of them again, Moreno said, “We’ve discussed the matter and find you not at fault in Lieutenant Rheinscheld’s suicide. Your indiscretion aside, you handled the situation as well as you possibly could. You will remain in the program and retain your position as team lead.”

“Thank you, sirs, ma’am.”

Torres inclined her head. “Dismissed.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Shepherd came out of the room, face carefully blank and exhaling slowly.  Mark raised his eyebrows at her, then followed half a step behind.  “That went...well.  I guess.”

“Definitely not as bad as it could have,” she muttered.  

“Shepherd.  Shepard.  My office.   _Now_.”

Kirkland’s voice rang out, hard and dangerous.  They both paused, then about-faced and followed Kirkland down the hall.  He closed the door behind them with a quiet snap, then stood in front of them, staring daggers at her for a few moments.

“You fucking grab-ass-tic piece of _shit_ , the fuck were you goddamn thinking, Shepherd? Did it never goddamn _occur_ to you to drag her ass into my office and maybe say, ‘Hey, DI, she needs fucking help’? Or did you just not give a shit?” He bent down in front of her, putting his face in hers so his goddamn hat brim was cutting a line in her forehead.  She kept her face blank, not giving him the reaction he desperately wanted and stared at the instructor’s nametape.   _That’s right, little girl.  Don’t give him a reason, take your licks and give nothin’ back._

“You’re the fucking team lead,” Kirkland hissed in her face. “Now one of your people is _dead_ and it’s your goddamn _fault!_ Was your brain even turned _on_ , Shepherd, or do I need to wipe your ass for you, too? If I had it my way, you’d be out of this goddamn program _yesterday_ ! Why the hell didn’t you call for one of us? What was running through that tiny little brain of yours that made you decide that _insulting her_ was the appropriate course of fucking action? If you’d just kept your goddamn mouth shut, I’d have gotten her down.”

Shepherd continued to stare blankly at his nametape, letting him rant.   _Ease down, Cap’n Kirk, Blondie was no fuckin’ moon princess to get_ this _fuckin’ worked up about._ Mark figured he was no longer the only one with a damn target on his forehead anymore.  With Torres up his ass and now Kirkland gunning for hers, it was going to be one hell of an interesting ride from here on out.

“I _will_ see to it that you fail, Shepherd. I don’t give a shit about that shiny fucking star on your uniform. The brass can say what they want. ‘Hero’ or not, you’ll be out of my program by the end of Hell Week, guaran-fucking- _teed_. Now, get the _fuck_ out of my sight.”  Kirkland backed off finally, ugly sneer twisting his face as they performed a sharp about-face to leave.  Something didn’t feel quite right, though.  Mark knew enough from his years in uniform that if a DI had it in for someone this bad, they rarely stopped at the tongue lashing.  No, Kirkland was going to find an exquisitely painful way to extract what he wanted out of his battle. ‘Guaran-fucking-teed.’  

“Oh, and Shepherd?”  Kirkland’s voice was almost silky. _Here it comes._  “Cut your goddamn hair. It’s out of regs.”

Mark would have missed the almost imperceptible falter in her step if he hadn’t known how she moved as well as he did by now.  He had to hand it to her, though, her voice was steady as it ever was with her quiet reply: “Aye aye, sir.”

 

~*~*~*~  

 

When they got back to their room, Shepherd disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.  He left her alone, settling on his bed with his pillow propping him up on the headboard and switching his datapad on.  Just because class was canceled for the rest of the day didn’t mean it was downtime.  Only a fool would waste the time given.  His rough sketch of her from the other night popped up on top of the open tabs, curls spilling on the pillow in a tumultuous wave. _Guess it’s not going to do_ that _anymore._  Most a pity.  He switched tabs and settled into reading about team management in high-risk scenarios, ironically enough.

Half an hour later, he’d heard nary a peep from the bathroom and the door hadn’t opened.  He glanced at his omni-tool; chow was in about an hour.  Crazy fuckin’ morning.  Mark sighed and stretched, tossing his datapad on his nightstand.  Wouldn’t that be some shit if he opened the door and saw her follow the dotted lines tattooed on her wrists.  He didn’t actually think she’d do it; shit like this happened.  And if she’d made it this far without doing anything dumb like that, she more than likely wasn't going to.  As far as he knew, her skin was smooth under the ink; no tell-tale scars.  He knocked on the door.

“It’s open,” came the dull response. Mark pushed open the door to see her staring bleakly at herself in the mirror, hair loose to her waist and twisting one lock between her fingers, scissors in the other hand.  He leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms and resting his head against the jamb.  _Huh_.  The blades of the scissors held a fine tremor as she brought the curl in her other hand slowly up to meet them.  Fire fluttered into the sink, her jaw tightening with steely resignation, gaze locked on the ribbon of red in the white basin of the sink.   _So she’s human.  Go figure._  First time he actually saw her show anything other than annoyance.

“You doin’ alright?” he asked softly.  She stared at the blades again.  

“Peachy keen, jelly bean,” she said tightly, her shoulders slumping a little more. “It’s just hair, right?”

“Yuh,” he agreed, looking her over.  She was always small to him, but he wasn’t used to seeing her retreat into herself like this.  It made her seem positively tiny.  Vulnerable.  “...would it be easier if I did it?”

“Why would you care?” she asked suspiciously, catching his eyes in the mirror.

“Because you’re my battle and I got your six.  You pick up my slack, I pick up yours.”

She chewed her lip for a moment before uncertainly holding the shears up with the handle toward him. “Sure. Why not?”

He peeled himself off the door jamb and took the scissors, moving behind her and tipping her head forward.  A shaky sigh escaped from under the writhing mass of flame in his hand but she let him move her without resistance.  Good.  “How short?”

“Part of me says just within regs as a ‘fuck you’ to him. This is a war I can only win by graduating, though, not by indulging in petty rebellions. Take it to the shoulders.” Her words were bold, but her voice was as small as she was.

“Ok…” he said quietly, letting most of it slide through his fingers like warm silk and starting to snip the under layer.  “It’ll, uh...it’ll grow back.”

“I know that,” she retorted somewhat testily.

“I _know_ you know that, I just…” he sighed, snipping more locks.  

“Just what?”

“I dunno.  Meaningless platitude to try to make you feel better.”  It was a rain of fire around her shoulders.  She lifted her chin a bit and scowled at him in the mirror.

“Since when do _you_ give a shit?  Thought I was just the token fucking show dog.”

He snorted. “You still are.  Forward, please.” She dropped her chin to her chest again and he moved carefully to the left, trying to keep the line as even as possible.  “Still my battle, too.”

 _Snip, snip, snip_.

Cascades of flaming curls carpeted the cold tile at their feet.

“...feels like cutting the braid off a Dothraki,” she whispered.  He snorted again at that.  They had the same taste in books.  “Did you know that cutting a woman’s hair was a punishment in Victorian times? And for women who ‘collaborated’ with the Germans during World War II. Meaning ‘fucked them.’ A few other cultures did it as well.”

“Mmhm,” he replied quietly, “I did indeed know that.  Hair is...significant.”

“You must think I’m vain.”

“Not at all.  Hair is a very personal thing.  Cuttin’ it off is significant no matter who you are.  If you have long hair and you hack it off because you feel overwhelmed, it's equivalent to self-harm.”  _Snip, snip, snip._ “It literally goes with you everywhere, is a security blanket to hide behind if it's long enough.”  He rotated her head gently to the other side, combing his fingers through it and trying to cut the stragglers that shook out.  “Or if someone holds you down and does it against your will, it’s a form of rape.  All about the power and who holds it.”

“Huh…” She peered at him in the mirror underneath the curtain of red hair falling forward over her face.

“Take a look at the bible. Samson is powerful, but loses it all when Delilah cuts his hair.” _Snip, snip, snip._  He continued, voice soft again. “...she neutered him.  And he let her.”

“It still feels stupid to bitch about it. Men have to cut theirs. And it _is_ too long, but only by an inch. It just hasn’t been a priority. I’d have probably decided to do it on my own, honestly. The shit’s heavy when it’s wet and sandy. But being _forced_ to do it… It’s a part of my damn body he’s making me cut off because he’s pissed at his own failure and...you’re right. It feels like a violation.” Her hands curled into fists on the sink. “I haven’t done more than trim it since before I joined up.”

“We can get into gender norms and societal expectations as such if you _really_ want, but...never mind.  Not important.  Or rather, not _pertinent_ to right now.  I...I’m ramblin’.  Don't listen to me.”  He ran his fingers through her hair again.  Not a perfect cut, but not bad for a blunt cut on curly fuckin’ hair.  Shepherd stared at herself grimly in the mirror.  “Hold tight.  Be right back.”  He went back into their room, grabbing his toiletry kit and laying it next to hers on the sink, rummaging around in it.

“What’re you doing?”

He pulled out his clippers and plugged them in, running his fingers over his own scalp.  “We’re about to go into Hell Week, right?” She nodded. “Well, another thing about hair is that cuttin’ it can signify a great change in a person.  Leavin’ old baggage behind, a literal and figurative weight off their shoulders.  The start of a new version of them.  We’re about to walk through fire.”  He handed the clippers to her.   “I need a trim myself.”

She looked down at the clippers in her hand and back up at him, _something_ shining in her eyes. She nodded once. “Gonna need you on my level, big guy,” she said softly.

Mark snorted, biting back a grin.  “First girl to ever get me on my knees,” he snickered as he knelt down.  “Goes without sayin’, but careful of the amp port, please.”  He tipped his head forward.

“I’ve never, uh, never done this before,” she said with a hint of a smirk, turning the clippers on. “Can’t be that hard, but stop me if I start to do it wrong.” Her hand ran lightly over his scalp before placing the clippers against his head and shaving a smooth line.

“Doin’ fine so far.  It’s pretty straight forward.  Go in one direction, then in another to catch what you miss.  If you leave me with patches, I’ll fix it myself and then shave you for an example.  Lieutenant Fuzz.”

“More like Lieutenant Peach Fuzz. Have you ever seen a redhead with their head shaved before?”

“How’n the hell would I know?  No hair for me to tell.”  Shepherd’s face relaxed a bit the more she ran the clippers over his head in steady, sure paths.  _Atta girl.  Adapt and overcome._

“It grows in _orange_ , Mark. Not sexy,” she chuckled.

“All the more reason for you to get it right on me, then, huh?”  The clippers shut off and she caught his gaze in the mirror again, wiping her palm over his fresh buzz cut.  His hair clippings sprinkled the floor on top of hers.

“I guess so.”  She slapped his clippers back in his palm.  “Thanks, mShep.”

“You’re welcome.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. From Dusk til Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"But you'll never be alone, I'll be with you from dusk til dawn. I'll be with you from dusk til dawn. Baby, I'm right here. I'll hold you when things go wrong, I'll be with you from dusk til dawn, I'll be with you from dusk til dawn. Baby, I'm right here..." ~_ Zayn ft. Sia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested in o-course, [this is it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7XJu-2E7RT4). Also, bonus points if you spot the Boondock Saints reference, hehe

**_Unbreakable_** , by Kate_Shepard and potionsmaster

 

Rating: E for sex, drugs, rock n’ roll, and country.  Otherwise known as ‘Violence out the wazoo’ and actual country.  (Country needs a warning label.)  Heed the warnings and tags, kiddies.  It ain’t pretty.

 

 **Chapter 7:** _From Dusk Til Dawn_

 

~*~*~*~

 

Mark woke up with a start, heavy pounding on the door.

“GET UP!   _NOW!_  LET’S GO, LET’S GO, _MOVE_ IT, LET’S _GO!”_

He bolted upright, scrabbling for the pants he’d laid out the night before. 0300 was early, but he’d suspected the cadre wasn’t going to make it a comfortable or easy wake up call.  There was a flurry of motion on the other side of the room as Shepherd donned her PTs and threw her hair into a bun.

“Good?”

“Let’s roll,” she deadpanned, shaking off the sleep haze with a speed he was dumbfounded at; the constant fatigue from the first two weeks was slowly grinding him down into a zombie that still looked fresh.  Mostly fresh, he amended; that was debatable some days. Not important, though. His battle must have been just as weary as he was, but she wore it a helluvalot better. The second they hit the door, he tried not to flinch; gunfire and shouting assaulted their ears.

“O-COURSE, O-COURSE, GET YOUR ASSES TO THE _O-_ COURSE, LOW CRAWL LOW CRAWL, _MOVE_ _!_ ”

They dropped and crawled down to the goddamn obstacle course, cool-ish night air somewhat more tolerable than the heat of the day despite the haze from the smoke grenades already covering the path to the field.  He snorted to himself; maybe her keeping the fuckin’ window open all night actually helped acclimatize him to it. They were only mildly winded as they approached it. _Speakin’ o’ which..._

“Psst.  Kate.” She didn’t turn.  “ _Kate_.”  Nothing. “ _Earth to Katherine Shepherd, battle buddy ex-tra-ordi-fuckin’-aire_.” She turned and raised a brow at him.  “...did you close the window?”

She chewed the inside of her lip as she thought back.  “Nope. Sure didn’t.”

“Well, shit,” he snorted, biting back a grin, “Too late now.  Hope it doesn’t rain.” Shepherd pursed her lips in an effort to suppress her own snort of amusement.

“I’ll just borrow what I need from your stuff, that’s all.”

“The hell you will.”

She shrugged. “I guess I could always just walk around naked. But I’m not sleeping in the wet spot, so you’ll have to scoot over.”

“Is that _so_ ,” he chuckled.  “My shirts’d be fuckin’ dresses on you.  That’d be hilarious, but I think the others on the floor would talk.”

“I think they’d probably talk _more_ about your battle buddy walking naked to the head than in a too-big PT shirt, but that’s cool. Good thing I keep my clothes in my wall locker, huh?”

“I s’pose.  But if you were in _my_ clothes, then _I’d_ be nekkid.  And they’d still talk.”

“I wouldn’t be wearing your pants, dumbass.”

“Good point.  I need caffeine...well, why wouldn’t you, though?” He furrowed his brow, chewing it over.  “If you’re goin’ as far as taking my shirt, and the rest of your shit’s wet, wouldn’t you need my pants, too?  Hands off my underwear, though. There are limits.”

“As much as I enjoy wearing boxers as shorts, ‘thanks but no thanks’ on used ones, anyway,” she smirked.

He slapped his hand over his heart in mock surprise. “What’s this?  Somethin’ we actually _agree_ on?  Must be a cold day in Rio.”  They reached the field with the rest of the soldiers and lapsed into quiet.  The tall, wooden structures loomed in the darkness, foreboding and silent in the still air.  Shepherd settled into parade rest on his three. Torres bellowed at the front.

“Buddy teams will run the course toGETHer, one team at a _time_.” She opened her omni-tool, preparing the timer. “You have seven minutes or you fail my course. Bertram, Alphabet, you’re up. Go.”

“Seven minutes?” Shepherd muttered. “I don’t think any of us have cleared it in seven minutes yet. We’re set up to fail. They _want_ us to repeat it. You know what that means, right?” She grinned up at him.

“We double down and bust it out?”

“Damn right we do. You willing to suffer a bit later to make that bitch eat crow? One of the few opportunities we’ll get.”

He nudged her with his elbow.  “Mutha-humpin’ ooo-rah.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Teams went up.  Teams ran the course.  Teams failed the course, as they had expected they would, and sat off to the side panting, waiting to go again. Shouts from the DIs were constant: ‘Keep your ass down!  Pick up the pace! Get your face in the dirt, this ain’t no beauty pageant! Hurry the fuck up; my childhood _dog_ could do better!  And he’s been _buried_ for 15 years!’   They watched, silently taking in the trouble spots.  The low spot behind the high wall under the right rope.  The loose end of one of the logs in the balance portion, the high berm on the end of the in-and-out bars. _That_ was always a problem for his overgrown ass; his shoulders brushed the sand a good two or three rungs before hers and it made him slow.  Torres would probably rip him a new one if he went for the side that had lower ground. Fuck it. Worth it if it meant they beat time.

The incline wall could be a small hindrance for Shepherd, but so far whenever they’d had to run the course she’d been able to make it.  He didn’t think it would be an issue now, but still. It was something to plan for going wrong. Monkey bars shouldn’t be an issue for either one of them.  He had the reach, and she was light enough that she could keep up. Cargo net would be a breeze, too, no problems there. The transfer rope might be a small hitch, but he’d seen her throw her weight to get the rope swinging in order to make up for her lack of reach.   _Adapt and overcome_.  She had it in the bag.  No doubt in his mind; he’d be the weak link simply due to bulk.   _Fuck._ Hell, even on the spider wall her size helped her hug close to it.  This was the first time in a long time he’d ever really considered that bein’ taller than the general population was a terrible hindrance.

“ _FEM_ Shep, _M_ Shep, you’re up!”

_Buck up, nut up, mach es fertig._

“Remember to keep your ass down when you’re low-crawling. You always snag on the barbed wire. Climb like a girl on the spider wall. Push with your legs, don’t pull with your arms. And keep your damn hips in or you’ll barn-door and we’ll blow our time,” Shepherd said as they ran forward.  Even she knew he’d be the one to hold them back. He didn’t dignify it with a response; no sense in arguing something they both knew was true.

The parallel bars appeared in front of them and he let her go first; he had a feeling if he took the lead and stretched out, they’d get a gap between them that would bite them in the ass for time.  Besides, he’d gotten used to adjusting himself to having her constantly next to him when Torres made them do sprints to catch up. He wasn’t about to leave his battle in the dust.

They laced their fingers over their heads and dashed through the tires with ease; adrenaline was pumping and he felt more awake than he had since arriving.   _Knees to your chest, bitch_.  The tires were tied down but it was still easy to trip on them.  Luckily Shepherd was killin’ it and made it up and over the low wall two strides in front of him. Next up was the high wall and they hit the climb ropes at the same time.  He bit back a curse; he’d grabbed the right side and fuck, wouldn’t it be some shit if he rolled his ankle landing in the low spot. She reached out and grabbed his arm to steady him without a glance and they booked it to the barbed wire trenches.

_Ass tucked.  Right. Shades of grenade trainin’._

Wet sand was decidedly less pleasant to have scrape across his front as he pulled himself under the wire with his left arm. Ah well.  At least he remembered to keep his ass flat. And there weren’t even any flames to convince him to do it this time, either. He considered that a ‘win’.  Neither had time to brush off before they hit the cargo nets. Simply by virtue of having a foot of height on her, he hauled himself ahead of her and promptly felt his boot slip though one of the holes.  He pulled it back and recovered quickly, berating himself as he swung himself over the top and down the other side, boot slipping again. _Mother_ fucker…

If nothing else, his blunders kept it fairly easy for Shepherd to keep up with him.  They dropped off the ropes and ran to the balance logs, each being especially careful of the loose end, and threw their hands on top of their heads again to run up a triangular stack of logs.  Fuckin’ ‘ooo-rah’ logs...step wrong on them and it was going to be a bad day.

Next up was a moment of truth: the transfer rope.  They had to climb one, grab a suspended ring and swing to the other in order to get back down.  He let her go first again and bit back a grin as she grit her teeth at the top, throwing her weight to swing the rope.   _Never seen a monkey with red hair before._  He was quick to follow and they hit the uneven logs at the same time, both huffing with the effort.  

“Goddamn it...” he griped.

“What?”

“I motherfuckin’ hate the fuckin’ ‘fuck’ bars…aptly named, because not _only_ do _you_ go ‘in-’n-out’, they also fuckin’ put you on your fuckin’ back and fuck you just as hard.   _Fuck..._ ”

“Well, that certainly illustrates the diversity of the word,” she snorted while they wove in and out of the bars; the rungs they slipped between were ramped to peak in the middle.   _Just like fuckin’...a lot of build up to reach the top, then come down._  He managed to avoid the side with higher dirt piled at the end and they panted over to the rope bridge, throwing themselves at the loose one to reach the starting point.  He went first this time, long legs eating up the distance on stepping from knot to knot. A quick glance around the course while she made her way to him showed they had reached the halfway point.  

He felt himself slowing a bit as they went over another godforsaken set of ooo-rah logs, hands on their heads, and they both paused before the largest wooden structure on the course: the tower.  There were four platforms sturdily built about seven feet on top of each other in a slight stagger in order to give room to climb. There was, of course, a ladder on the back side of the structure from bottom to top, but that was a no-go.  They glanced at each other and stepped up. Mark hooked his hands on the cross pole and tightened his abs with a grunt, bringing his legs up to wrap around it and heave himself up to the first platform. Kate shimmied up the post, unable to reach the cross pole and made it several seconds after he did, panting as they went for the second.  

“My way takes too long. Give me a hand?” She looked at him, strands of hair stuck to her damp forehead.  

“You ask so nicely...no ‘please’?” he teased, giving her a half-grin back and pulled himself up to the second platform with another grunt. He stuck out a hand.

“Will you just help me, asshole?” she sputtered, grabbing his hand with an exasperated smirk.

“Mmhm.  As she commands, I will abide.  First you get me on my knees, now, I’m layin’ down for you.  What next?” he huffed as he pulled her to the next level, rolling onto his back to give her room. Much to his surprise, she collapsed on his chest, grinning suggestively before her small hands shoved herself off of him.  “Uh _huh_.  With an audience and everythin’?  You’re bad.”

“But I do it _so_ well.”

“Yeah, y’do.”  She shoved the small of his back before he hauled them both up to the next levels, ropes on the rope slide waving slightly in the air.  He let her go first again, quickly making up the distance and passing her to grab the next rope to swing onto another balance log. He over-corrected and almost slipped off but was able to catch himself enough to steady himself on the first rung of the monkey bars.  His arms still had a bit of a twinge in them from the tower, but it didn’t bother him enough to slow down.

A quick glance back at Shepherd showed her straining to reach the rungs of the monkey bars, having to swing between them and let go of one before actually having the other secured. _Monkey_ _indeed_.  They ran down another short balance log to another bank of tires   It surprised him even more that he didn’t trip on them this time around. The following incline wall was a welcome respite that they breezed over.

They jogged to the next bit.  The spider wall. _Climb like a girl_.  Once again, tuck his ass and keep his body tight against the wall.  His thighs trembled in slight protest as he hoisted himself up, flattening himself against the wood while sliding over the footholds.  He didn’t dare try to reach further than the next handhold on the wall; last thing he needed was to fall off the damn thing and fail. _Huh-uh_.  No way in _hell_ was he dropping the ball on this when they were so damn close.  She plastered herself against it and made it look easy as she scaled the tiny shims of wood before stumbling off the end platform to the sand beside him.  

“One more, then sprints.  We got this,” he panted. Small logs that came up to his waist made five hurdles he vaulted over in quick succession.  It almost brought to mind back home; his friend Rafe had horses and liked to set up small fences to ride over. It was pretty neat to watch, and was a mix of thrilling and not-quite fear the few times he’d been convinced to do it himself, though he much preferred running barrels or poles; he wasn’t airborne for those events unless the animal pitched him or he slid off.  He shoved the memories aside, concentrating instead on the small blur of arms and legs pumping beside him, huffing to reach the finish line before time was up. They charged past Moreno standing by the endpost, omni-tool glowing in the dark.

“TIME!” Moreno yelled, “Six minutes, 58 seconds.  You’d have been faster if you hadn’t been flirting on the tower.  Go rest. Sheffield! Leng! You’re up!”

Mother _fucker_.  He looked at his battle, hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath.  They fuckin’ _did it_.  Her eyes sparkled, holding up her hand.

“Uuuuuuup top!   _Hells_ yeah!”

“Dork,” he snorted, slapping her palm with his. “You were checkin’ out my ass, weren’t you?”

“Oh, come on.  You knew that was coming.  And yes. Yes, I was.”

“Yuh.  And I fuckin’ _knew_ it.  Why else would Moreno point it out?”

She shook her head, grinning. “What can I say? It being right in my face and all. It’d be a shame not to look.”

He scoffed, incredulous.  Not the response he was exactly expecting; he thought for sure a denial would be thrown down.  “I’ll take your word on it.” She was just riffing like soldiers in the same unit usually did to blow off steam and keep it as light as possible when under pressure; that had to be it.  Alphabet had a much better ass. That much he could admit, considering he had a faceful of it mere days ago.

“Besides, Moreno probably noticed you pulling me up to lay all over you more than me checking out your ass,” she smirked.  

“You did that to your _self_ ,” he snorted back, amused. “Plenty of room next to me on the platform.”

“Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that, big guy.” She reached up and patted his cheek with a smirk before sinking down onto the sand.

He rolled his eyes as he grabbed a couple of water bottles and held one out for her before dropping heavily down next to her.  She was pulling his own tactic he used to get under people’s skin on him. “Real cute. Didja see Torres’ face?”

“Priceless,” she said, popping the cap on the water. “Totally worth the stupidity of blowing ourselves on the first evolution.”

“Ain’t that the damn truth.”  He twisted the cap off to his own and held the bottle up to toast with her.  “To the first of many stupidities. Take what you can, give nothin’ back.”

“Hells, yeah.” She tapped her bottle against his before chugging it down.

“Hell yeah,” he muttered back, swigging his own.  It was just the beginning.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Day two and he wanted to just lay down and sleep forever.  They all survived surf torture after the o-course, even Sheffield.  Alphabet made it his mission to stick on his three or nine throughout the entire day ordeal.  He caught Shepherd glancing at them surreptitiously more than once, a glint in her green eyes belying amusement.  It _was_ a little funny how subtle they thought they were being.  He had figured Alphabet wasn’t on the straight and narrow after the zodiac mishap had him almost literally eating his ass and it had been met with amusement more than loud protests of ‘no homo’.  Sheffield, though...he kept everything as close to the chest as Mark himself did.

If he thought about it, though, the clues were _there_.  Sheffield never engaged in talking about women with the other guys (and some of the other girls).  He made dirty jokes, yeah, same as the rest, but on whole they were fairly mild and not specific. And then after Blondie bit it, he specifically mentioned he said ‘no’ to her because she was married...Mark wasn’t saying there were no guys out there with integrity, since he never went after anybody with a wedding band, either, but he didn’t advertise that fact.  Naw, that little comment smelled more and more like deflection the more he chewed it over in his brain.

And then there was Sheffield’s battle buddy, Leng.  Mark was almost shocked to a standstill that Leng was keeping his mouth relatively shut and actually _doing_ the tasks.  True, he still had a sour look on his face and muttered under his breath about shit, but he put his head down as much as he could and did the work. He would have bet his entire year’s salary and lost it that the opposite would have happened.  It was probably too much to hope that Leng had been another clerical error like Blondie.

Mark stared dumbly at the log in the sand by their feet. They were waiting for the DIs to give further instructions on how they could all fuck themselves with it.  He squirmed a bit, trying to remain unnoticed as he rolled his right shoulder. The log always seemed to mess with it to the point it was incredibly uncomfortable.

“Sprints!  To the water and back!   _GO!_ ”  

They all knelt on one knee to pick up the log, like the other teams next to them on the beach.  All except one.

 _Leng_.

Guess he would’ve won that year’s salary back.

“The _fuck_ are you doing, Leng?” Shepherd griped.  “Get on your knee and help us pick this thing up like the rest.”

“I’d rather just run, thanks,” Leng sneered, starting to move to the water.  “They only said ‘Run’. They _never_ said it had to be with the log in tow.”  

“Shit...he’s right,” Sheffield said quietly, using Alphabet’s shoulder to push himself off the ground.  Bertram scoffed.

“Yeah, but none of the other teams are doing it,” she pointed out, standing up herself.

“Doesn’t matter.  You want to win? Work smarter, not harder,” his battle retorted, yanking herself up on his outstretched hand for her.  “Book it. _Now_.”  They all took off towards the water and slapped a palm in the surf before sprinting back up the beach to their starting point.  Alphabet led the pack. Leng was waiting for them with a smirk as DI Vasquez picked her way across the beach to them. She was one of the other platoons’ instructors and a spunky little thing by reputation.

“Cadets! Want to tell me _why_ you don’t have your log?” she demanded. “You see everyone else carrying theirs, so what is going through your head, Lieutenant?”

Shepherd snapped to and said, “Ma’am, you didn’t say to carry the log. You said to sprint to the water and back. We did, ma’am.”

Vasquez took a step forward, looking Shepherd almost directly in the eye. “Are you sure about that, Lieutenant? I remember this being _log_ PT.”

“I’m sure, ma’am,” Shepherd said. “You did not tell us to pick up our logs.”

“Everybody _stop!_ ” Vasquez shouted. The other teams froze where they stood. “Since Boat Crew Three is the only one who pays attention to _detail_ , they are going to take a break while the rest of you get wet and sandy and run a mile down the beach and back _with your logs_.” She turned back to them. “Good work, Three.  Water’s on the table over there. Biotics, refuel.”

Mark watched the instructor walk down the beach, dumbfounded.   _Go figure…_  He blinked at his battle.  Her face was pinched from exhaustion, lips pursed in a thin line.

“Leng!” she said crisply.  The dark haired man scowled at her, taking a drink of water.  “Good catch.” She turned back to Mark. “Can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth, all three of them in the same breath.”

“Right?  I refuse to believe it.  You’re hallucinatin’. What kind of protein bar you want, cardboard?  Or…” he checked the wrappers, “...chocolate cardboard? Oh, this one’s peanut butter and asbestos.”

“Surely it’s just the sleep deprivation. Chocolate cardboard, please,” she said with a grin.

“Heh.  Definitely can’t be that he actually fuckin’ did something worthwhile,” he muttered to her, passing her a couple of protein bars along with a bottle of water before settling in the sand to watch the other teams struggle.  Shepherd plopped next him, knee bumping into his.

“Yeah, that’s not possible,” she smirked back at him.  “I can barely sit up straight. And it’s only day two. We’ve still got another two before we can sleep an hour.”

He glanced down at her a moment, then shifted, placing them back to back. “Me neither.  We can keep each other upright.” He paused, working a chunk of stale protein bar out of his molars.  “If you think you have enough time, you can drift. I’ll get you movin’ before the next evolution.”

“You’d do that?”

“Yuh.”

“How’re you going to stay alert?”

“I got my ways.”

“Wake me up when they get to the turnaround and I’ll let you take a turn,” she said, leaning back into him and resting her head against his back.  He glanced down at her again, face already slack.

“I’m good.  You need it more.”  He unwrapped another chewy cardboard flavored protein bar and washed it down with the rest of his water bottle, humming to himself.

_“I got my toes in the water, ass in the sand.  Not a worry in the world, cold beer in my hand.  Life is good today…”*_

 

~*~*~*~

 

“Are sharks nocturnal?” Red whispered to Shepard, trying not to let her voice carry to the spot where Alphabet was surreptitiously attempting to keep Sheffield from panicking.

“Yes. They have to keep movin’ to breathe.” The answer came from Lieutenant Kane, the newest member of their boat crew and Bertram’s replacement. Bertram had rung out two (Or was it three? She wasn’t quite sure which day it was or how long they’d been out here) nights ago. Kane was...someone’s buddy. Not hers. Didn’t matter. Pretty boy. Short and slim. Big eyes. Long eyelashes. Full of attitude, but could grit his teeth through just about anything. With Bertram gone, Blondie was all but forgotten.

Fuck, she was tired. Hadn’t slept more than a handful of minutes since the drill instructors had banged their doors open and started shouting at them to get down to the PT field. Hadn’t stopped moving except to eat a few times a day and rinse off at the outdoor showers every few hours. And now the waves were lapping at their feet. The black waves, a full moon shimmering off its surface. No more night dives this far out from sleep, but damned if they wouldn’t let them swim without the SCUBA gear.

She hadn’t realized she was afraid of sharks until this very moment. Varren, no problem. Thresher maws, just another beast. Sharks? Fuck. This. Shit. Maybe she and Sheffield would ring out together. Her legs were twitchy just thinking about it. Or maybe that was the exhaustion. Her eyelids had turned to lead and her skin threatened to crawl off her body. Her muscles spasmed, leaving her almost shaking even though the air was relatively warm. Beside her, Shepard was pale in the moonlight but for deep shadows that hollowed his eyes. She’d bet hers were just as bad. They all were. Even pretty boy Kane looked haggard.

The other boat crews looked to be faring slightly better, but not much. Crew Three was still short two people and it was only the sheer number of ring-outs that had gotten Kane assigned to replace Bertram. She was pretty sure this was part of Kirkland’s revenge. They were doing more work, pulling more weight per person, uneven in the boat if they used the sixth person to row instead of bail and constantly fighting to keep the zodiac upright when they didn’t. The crews that remained had been shuffled more times than she could keep up with, but her team’s number remained at six.

And now a two kilometer-long swim in the dark. With the sharks.

“They won’t come after you,” Kane said, his soft accent thickening until he was indistinguishable to her ears from the locals. “We don’ look like their food and they don’ actually _eat_ humans anyway. It’ll be fine.”

“Uh huh,” she said, unconvinced.

If she could see them coming, it wouldn’t be so unnerving, but she was already imagining sharp teeth grabbing hold of her and dragging her under. Normally, she’d be able to rationalize herself out of it, but she was just so damn tired and her body wouldn’t be convinced. No way in hell was she going to let this get the best of her, though. She’d get through this like she got through everything else. At least it would get the damn sand off. Virtually every minute of today that they hadn’t been running the o-course fifteen different times or running the beach with their damn logs had been spent rolling around in the goddamn sand dunes. She had it up her fucking _nose_.

If she was counting the days right, this was day three. They’d be getting an hour to sleep sometime tomorrow, but that might as well be an eternity away. She’d drown before then. Or get eaten by a goddamn shark. They were nocturnal, right? Yeah. Pretty Boy had just said that. Fuck. He was still talking about them, rambling to keep himself awake. Leng, for once, was blessedly fucking silent.

She wondered if the sand would make a good bed. Better than some she’d slept on. And at this point, she didn’t care where it got as long as she could close her damn eyes. But the drill instructors were pacing the line again, shouting at another crew. Sheffield was fixing a strap on Alphabet’s life jacket and Alphabet spoke quietly to him. Shepard had his eyes narrowed, watching the other two while chewing his bottom lip.

“Come on, guys,” Kirkland said through his bullhorn, pacing up and down the line. “You don’t have to do this. Just ring the bell and you can get a hot shower, a nice meal, and go home and fuck your partner. No need to put yourself through all this shit, right? Just ring the bell and you don’t have to swim two klicks in the dark with the sharks.” Two people from Boat Crew Four made their way to the bell.

“Dumbasses,” Red muttered. Or was she the dumbass? She was the one about to go swim with fucking sharks. Meanwhile, they were getting blankets wrapped around them and cups of hot coffee pressed into their hands. Maybe they were the smart ones and she was the idiot.

“Fuuuuck that _shit_ ,” Shepard griped, “Got no spouse to worry about.  If I want to fuck, I can still find a way to do it here.  Right, Sheffield?”

Sheffield’s jaw clenched and he snorted.  “Damn straight. Rather be swimming with the sharks here than trapped in civvie life there.”

Alphabet grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

Red yawned. “Hell, right now, fucking’s the last thing on my mind. The _bed_ , though. That’s what I’d go for.”

“Mm.  Even a sleepin’ bag right now.  Something to keep me off the goddamn sand.  Could sleep right now if not for the sand,” her battle agreed.

Red toed at it. “Even that’s starting to look appealing, to be honest. But he starts offering nice, clean sheets and I might have to shut him the hell up.”

“I don’t care what it is as long as there’s a pillow,” Alphabet said, raking his hands over his hair. “I’m so tired, I’m forgetting how to English.”

“Ohhh, don’t even start,” Sheffield moaned, tipping his head back and scrubbing his hands over his face.  “We start down that path, we’re never coming back off of it. Let’s think of something else. Uh, favorite mod.  Go.”

“Omni-blade for my shotgun,” Alphabet said immediately.

“Thermal scope for my sniper rifle,” Red answered.

“Well what d’you know, femShep.  We think alike,” Shepard gave her a half grin.  “I like a thermal scope for my Lancer.”

“Mm.  What kind of sniper?  And I like scram rails for my Volkov,” Sheffield broke back in.  He looked eager and bright again.

“I’ve got a Punisher. Armax Arsenal. Not quite as good as a Volkov for damage, but it makes up for it in accuracy and can almost always get at least a couple shots off in succession before it overheats,” she answered.

“In the water! In the water! Go go go go _go!_ ” At the instructor’s order, they lurched forward as a group, activating their beacon lights and pulling on their goggles as they splashed through the surf until they were deep enough to don their fins and delve into the water.

The ocean at night was a completely different place than the colorful wonderland it was during the day. The diurnal aquatic life with their bright, iridescent colors and swift, fluttery bodies were burrowed under the sand or tucked into gaps in the coral or hanging suspended in the water. Night’s inhabitants were dim and sleek with large eyes and minimal decoration. Night belonged to the predators. She’d have said it was fitting for a group like theirs, but they weren’t the predators here.

She swam faster, struggling to keep the lead and reminding herself to keep the fins on her feet below the surface. They did no good if they breached, just slapped against the surface and made it harder to kick. A glance under her arm as she turned her head to breathe showed a light glowing nearby and others slightly further out.

Shepard. She couldn’t see him, but she’d put money on it. He hadn’t left her behind a single time since the course started. She could keep up with him in their runs now unless he deliberately chose to leave her in the dust, though they weren’t anywhere near the fastest team. Alphabet could run circles around anyone in their platoon when he wasn’t hampered by waiting for his own buddy. Shepard stuck by her on the o-course, kept close by during their swims, and was consistently at her three or nine during every evolution when they weren’t lined up one after the other; in which case, he was either directly in front of or behind her. Her ‘fuckin’ adept’ had actually turned out to be a damn good buddy.

By the time they reached the turnaround point and swam back to shore, Red was struggling just to turn her head far enough to breathe while still moving forward. Drowning even in their inflatable life jackets was becoming a very real risk and a much greater threat than the sharks she hadn’t even seen. The sputters and gasping breaths from her teammates told her they were struggling just as hard as she was. The sand rising up to meet her palm when she stroked forward was enough of a shock that she continued attempting to swim forward until she was sliding on her belly.

A large hand grabbed the back of her vest and half-lifted, half-dragged her out of the water. She lifted her head and slapped her goggles down around her neck as she stumbled to her feet beside Shepard. A count that took longer than it should have told her that everyone had made it through. Behind them, the bell chimed almost continually as people staggered up to it and rang out. She cast a concerned glance at Sheffield, but he was standing on the beach a few feet away with his hands on his knees and Alphabet slapping his back. He caught her look and flashed her a thumbs up before he straightened.

“Second full crew in,” Moreno said. “Drink water and go sit till everyone’s back.”

“No,” Kirkland said, staring her down. “Second place is…”

“First fuckin’ loser, sir,” she muttered dejectedly.

“Right. Drink water and go run the beach until everyone’s in.”

She and Shepard shook their heads as they dragged themselves to the drink table and threw their bodies into a run. Fuck Kirkland. Goddamn asshole. He wasn’t going to win. But damn, she would have liked to sit awhile and Shepard _needed_ sleep. She’d gotten to nap against him for a few minutes, but he’d gotten nothing more than winks while waiting for the next evolution since all this started. _Next time_ , she told herself. _Next time we sit, he sleeps._ Wet sand kicked up around her legs as the six of them ran together.

 _Toes in the water, ass in the sand, not a worry in the world, a cold beer in my hand…_ Now, where had _that_ come from?   

     

~*~*~*~

 

The sun rose and settled high and hot above them. They didn’t stop for more than a quickly-eaten chow break followed by more surf torture until the boat race that they finally won. They’d gotten a new pair after the night swim, but Red couldn’t remember their names. The big burly one was...Hawthorne? Hayworth? Didn’t matter. Odds were they’d be gone in a day or two along with Kane. The only ones she expected to stay were herself, Shepard, Alphabet, Sheffield, and--unfortunately--Leng. He, at least, hadn’t hit anyone with an oar this time and he had caught the slip that let them rest a few days before.

Simply sitting down, she discovered as she leaned back against Shepard’s chest, wasn’t cutting it anymore. Kane had fallen asleep during surf passage that morning and tumbled out of the boat three times and she was pretty sure they were all falling asleep while running. Alphabet had crashed during low crawls and Sheffield had tugged him through until he woke up again. Leng had decided that the log made a good pillow and almost gotten a concussion when he’d missed the order to put it down. ‘Exhausted’ was no longer a strong enough word to describe their current condition. Four days with no real sleep? They were going clinically insane.

They sat one in front of the other with the person in back propped against their zodiac and everyone stacked in front of the person behind them, all but in their laps and using each other as a backrest. At least she was in front this time. Putting Shepard in back with her between him and the others they way they’d done once had resulted in her gasping for air when they’d leaned back.  

Her legs twitched and her skin crawled with the need to sleep. Her trembling hands refused to cooperate when she tried to shift her canteen around so that it wasn’t digging into his waist and she looked dumbly down at them. Shepard reached forward and bumped it out of the way, but his eyes were glazed and he couldn’t seem to figure out what she was doing or why, and he gave up after only a moment and wrapped his arms around her, muttering something about a teddy bear she swore he’d called Boo Boo.

“You need to sleep,” she muttered. “I don’t honestly know how I’m still moving and I’ve had more rest than you at this point.”

“‘M alright.  Fuckin’ warhorse.  Just keep ploddin’ along.”

“Regular old Sergeant Reckless, huh?”

“...what?  I don’t know who that is.  Helluva name, heh. Bit on the nose, though.”

“War horse from the 1900s. Carried supplies and shit on the front lines. Made like 50 solo trips through enemy fire in a single day. They’d just load her up and let her go and she’d get shit done on her own. They gave her a real rank and everything in recognition of it.”

“ _Huh_.  Learn somethin’ new every day.  Night. Day. Whatever the fuck it is…” He stifled a yawn.  “No, I was more referrin’ to I’m keepin’ myself moving. Countin’ strides and footfalls, adjustin’ weight and gear...reminds me of ridin’ back home.”

“Always wanted to ride a horse,” she mused, settling into him. He made a damn good backrest. If she wasn’t careful, she’d fall asleep again right here and it was his turn. “Used to read about ‘em in the orphanage, but never got to see a real one.”

“Eh.  They’re ok, I guess.  Lotta shit to pick up after.  I didn’t really ride all that much, just did chores around the barn.  My-” he shifted behind her, hand dropped listlessly on her thigh. Micro-sleep. They were all doing it by now. Probably didn’t even realize he’d lost time. “Um, was gonna say...fuck, I can’t goddamn _think_.  The fuck was I gonna say? Huh.”

Her head dropped back against his chest, too heavy to hold up any longer. She couldn’t remember, either. Something about horses. She’d always wanted to ride a horse.  “I know. I thought goddamn Elysium was exhausting. Keep tellin’ myself at least I don’t have bullets in my back, but it’s starting to feel like I do. And my calves won’t stop twitching.”

“When I _did_ ride, I was always told don’t bang ‘em with my legs, use my hips instead.  I’ve found that advice applicable in more than one situation, heh.”

She laughed, probably harder than she should have. It wasn’t really all that funny, but the mental image of him trying to bang his legs into his partners’ to get them to move faster had tears streaming down her face. She clutched her aching sides, shaking her head. “Yeah, I bet. Kick me in bed and you’ll get off. Just not the way you want.”

He snickered, shaking them both as he tried to suppress it. “ _Oh_ my, the implications...was also told to be gentle on their mouths.  What’ve you got for that?”

“I don’t know enough about riding to put that one into context,” she admitted with a weak chuckle. “I guess I’d say I’ve got a tough mouth? Gentleness not required.”

“ _Ha_.  Use a gag bit for that, and then I _would_ get all up in your mouth.  Naw, there’s, uh. Metal. That goes between their teeth, where the reins attach, and that’s how you steer, in short.  You don’t wanna haul on their mouth or anythin’ like that. Good way to get thrown.”

“Sounds kinky,” she smirked. “Seriously, though, yeah. No metal in my mouth, thank you very much. I like my teeth and want to keep them.”

“Pff.  I don’t do trappin’s.  And there’s a gap in their teeth that allows it.” He sighed, rolling her head to the side with the motion.  “Funny. I haven’t really thought about this shit in years, an’ when it gets down to it, it’s always there in the back of my mind.”

She certainly understood that. Abby, Gabe, and the Reds were never far from her thoughts, but she no longer actively thought about them more than she had to. Too painful. A distraction she didn’t need, especially here. “I’m with you on trappings. Not my style. It’s mental.” She tapped her forehead to emphasize her point. “And, uh. Yeah. Crazy how something can be there and not all at the same time.”

“Ah well.  Not important.  Nobody cares about a scrawny colony kid who grew up in a dirt patch.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t care about scrawny little orphan kids growing up in the streets, either. I’ve decided humans really just don’t give a fuck about anybody but themselves. Only person who’s gonna look after you is you.” She nudged him with her elbow. “And sometimes a good battle buddy when you get lucky.”

“Woof, woof, bitch,” he chuckled, “Y’ain’t so bad yourself.  Show dog or no.”

“Uh huh. Woof woof yourself, devil dog.” She scrubbed her hands over her face and looked blearily out at the water. There was still one team struggling to make it back. A few more minutes’ rest, then.

If they weren’t so fucking exhausted and if she didn’t have sand up her damn ass, it might actually be nice. She buried the toes of her boots into it, humming softly for a moment before absently picking up on the damn tune that had been stuck in her head for...she didn’t even know how long at this point. “Got my toes in the water, ass in the sand…” Damn it, where _had_ that come from? It was an old song, and one she hadn’t heard in forever. Must just be the ages spent on the beach calling it back up.

“...not a care in the world, cold beer in m’hand, life is good t’day…” Shepard mumbled absentmindedly behind her, carrying the tune decently enough.

“‘Not a _worry_ in the world,’” she corrected before lightly slapping his chest. “Damn it, _that’s_ why I’ve got that damn song in my head. Thanks for that.”

He flinched in a delayed reaction to her hand smacking on his chest.  “Heard that, did you? Sorry, not sorry. Good song. Don’t much care for the group, though.  They get annoyin’ to me.”

“That’s one of the only ones I’ve heard,” she said, absently patting her fingers against the spot in apology. She hadn’t done it hard, but hell, just her clothing on her skin hurt right now.  He wrapped long fingers around her hand and gently moved it off the spot before letting go, shifting under her once more.

“Here, lean back again.  Stretch as much as you can; don’t get all balled up.  You’ll hurt worse.”

“Did I…? Oh, shit. Sorry.” She looked down at herself and realized she’d all but curled up in his lap like a child. Damn it, it just felt so _good_ to lay on something after four full days without more than that single ten minute nap. She’d probably snuggle the zodiac if it meant she could rest for a few minutes. She stretched her legs out again, shifting her back against his chest.

The last team dragged their boat out of the water and Kirkland walked the line. “Everybody up! Get your oars!  Now! I want to see you move with a sense of purpose!” Red struggled to her feet, fingers closing loosely around the oar half-buried in the sand beside the zodiac. Behind her, the rest of the team did the same. “Stand them up in the sand. Make sure they are stable. Lift the port side of your zodiac and prop it on your oars.”

“Oh, please tell me this means what I think it does,” Alphabet muttered, shoving the blade of his oar down into the sand. The rest of them followed suit, spacing them as evenly as they could, and dragged the inflatable up to make a lean-to over the sand.

“Go to sleep! You have one hour!” Torres announced. “Make it count!”

They dropped to their knees almost as one and crawled beneath the boat, lining up in a similar fashion to their sitting arrangement so that everyone could fit.  Shepard let out an almost filthy moan as his head hit the sand. “ _Fuck_ yes…”

Red plopped down beside him, echoing his groan as she burrowed a small hole to lay in. Now that she was lying down, though, she couldn’t find a comfortable position for her head. Alphabet was spooned up behind Sheffield, his arm making a pillow for Sheffield and Kane’s head on his outstretched palm. The two newcomers were head to toe with their heads cradled on the other’s boots. Only Leng lay separately from the group and even he was close. With a shrug, she sighed and flopped her head onto Mark’s chest. Better. She could hear his heartbeat, a steady counterpoint to the waves crashing a few meters away. Soothing.

A heavy hand slid up over the top of her head, the weight of it pressing her ear tighter to his chest and his heartbeat drowning out practically everything else. His breathing evened out, deep and slow. _Huh...our heartbeats match. Means we’re actually in sync now._ She scoffed at herself for such a ridiculous idea. Sleep. She desperately needed sleep if _that_ was the kind of shit floating up in her brain. She closed her eyes and let the blessed darkness take her, too exhausted to care that there was nothing but sand at her back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * song is Toes by the Zac Brown Band


	8. Shaken, Not Stirred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"...“Forward, the Light Brigade!”  
>  Was there a man dismayed?  
> Not though the soldier knew  
> Someone had blundered.  
> Theirs not to make reply,  
> Theirs not to reason why,  
> Theirs but to do and die.  
> Into the valley of Death  
> Rode the six hundred."_ ~ Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 'The Charge of the Light Brigade', Stanza II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based off a real life account of SEAL training. **Violent death warning.**

**_Unbreakable_** , by Kate_Shepard and potionsmaster

 

Rating: E for sex, drugs, rock n’ roll, and country.  Otherwise known as ‘Violence out the wazoo’ and actual country.  (Country needs a warning label.)  Heed the warnings and tags, kiddies.  It ain’t pretty.

 

 **Chapter 8:** _Shaken, Not Stirred_

 

~*~*~*~

 

Red had mud in her ear. It wasn’t the only place, but it was the most irritating in a laundry list of small irritations that had morphed into pure misery. They’d paddled their zodiac out to the mud flats around a small island in the middle of one of the many inlets that lined this part of the coast. There, the instructors had run them through drills that primarily consisted of low-crawling through the mud until they were covered from head to toe. She was actually grateful now that Kirkland had made her chop her hair off. What was there already weighed several pounds with all the muck coating it. She didn’t want to imagine the headache she’d have had if it had still been long.

After low-crawls came sprints, weighted down with drying mud on their clothes, and MREs eaten with mud on their fingers and nothing showing of their faces but their teeth and the whites of their eyes. If she hadn’t gotten to know her team so well by now, she wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart. As it was, she had to rely on voice, posture, and body-language to differentiate between Shepard and Sheffield.

She’d managed to keep the stuff out of her ears and eyes until Moreno had given the order to get another hour of sleep. The rest got to spread out on the grass. Kirkland had ordered Red and Shepard to stay in the mud. MShep had sprawled out on his back with a hand behind his head and tugged hers onto his chest again to keep it out of the worst of it, but they were so thickly coated in the shit that it squished against her face when she laid it on him. It hadn’t mattered in the moment. The mud had been softer than the sand and soothing on skin abraded from five days spent soaking wet and sand-coated. She probably should have worried about infection--the water here was filthy--but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Now, however, it was stuck in her ear, clogging it and dulling the input. She was already having trouble deciphering even simple commands and had started relying on Mark to repeat orders for her so that she could hear them well enough to string the words into semi-coherent sentences. She swiped a finger on the bark of a tree to clean it and attempted to dig out the worst of it without pushing it deeper while watching a pyjak in a loincloth drag a pink rabbit into the brush.

Wait. What?

There weren’t pyjaks on Earth. Were there? “Did you see that?” she mumbled to Mark.

“See what?” he asked, blinking at her.

“Pyjak and a pink rabbit,” she said.

“I think you’re hallucinatin’,” he told her seriously. “It was blue.”

“It was _not_ ,” she said. “I swear to Christ it was fucking _pink_. The pyjak was blue.”

“No,” he said in a long-suffering tone. “The pyjak was orange.”

“You’re both wrong,” Alphabet said. “There’s no pyjak. It was a kangaroo.”

“There aren’ any kangaroos in Brazil,” Kane interjected. “You’re all hallucinating.”

“Says the guy who tried to send us chasing ghost lights in the zodiac,” Hayworth said, scrubbing a hand over his face and doing nothing more than sending flakes of dried mud into his nose. He snorted and shook his head.

“I think I have a snake bite,” Red said suddenly, glaring down at her ankle. It was fucking _burning_. She glanced over to ensure that the instructors were still watching the final team crawl through the muck and bent over, rolling the top of her boot down and tugging her pants leg up. Her sock was dark and it was possibly the only place on her body that wasn’t muddy. Blood. Shit. Maybe she really _had_ gotten bitten.

Mark bent down and peeled the sock away as carefully as he could with hands that trembled as badly as everyone else’s. He winced. “Not a snakebite. You rubbed it raw.”

“Did you not change your socks?” Alphabet asked.

“I did,” she said, poking at the wound. Mark swatted her hand away from it. She checked her omni-tool, but the dispenser was out of medigel and she’d used the last packet that morning when she’d split her eyebrow open dragging the zodiac over the berm during rock portage. The rest of the team patted their pockets and shook their heads. No one else had any, either. Damn.

Kirkland prowled over and looked at her leg. “Ow, femShep. Nasty wound you’ve got there. Ready to ring out, yet?”

“Sir, no, sir,” she answered, tugging her sock back up and tucking her pant leg back into her boot, attempting to smooth the fabric so it wouldn’t rub more than it had to. “Just feeling exfoliated, sir.”

“Run it off. You’ll feel better,” he barked, pointing down the shore line.

She re-tied her boot and lurched forward, not bothering to look to make sure Mark was following. He’d be there. Gods knew between Kirkland and Torres, they’d certainly had enough extra work put onto them, but he hadn’t bitched at her for pissing Kirkland off any more than she’d bitched at him about Torres. They both just ducked their heads and forced their aching bodies forward.

Three hours later, night was falling as they paddled to the next set of coordinates the instructors had provided. Another fresh hell to fight through, though getting there was proving to be a challenge in itself. There must have been a storm moving in because the swells were bigger than any she’d seen so far, crashing into the beach with enough force that they could hear it over the roar around them. At least it had gotten them clean. The bottom of the zodiac was calf-deep in muddy water even with Kane bailing as quickly as he could.

Their arms shook with the effort to shove the zodiac up the massive swells without capsizing and sliding down the backside provided no relief because they had to clamp down on the ropes along the sides to keep from being ejected as they raced down. Life jackets or no, anyone thrown from the boat in these waters was unlikely to be seen again.

“How the hell are we supposed to get this thing over the berm if there is one?” Sheffield shouted over the wind and waves. She’d ceased to be surprised at his fortitude in the water, but this shit had even _her_ ass puckered.

“They wouldn’t send us anywhere but a beach landing in this, would they?” Hayworth’s buddy, whose name she still couldn’t remember, asked.

“Ha! You don’t know Kirkland very well, do you?” she scoffed. “We should start planning for rock portage.”

Rock portage was a bitch in calm seas. Typically, they moved the inflatable close enough that one person could get out and guide it in, then the rest helped carry it over the rocks. It was dangerous in that the rocks were always slick, the waves could easily shove the boat into the person guiding it, and not getting between the rocks and the zodiac was sometimes easier said than done. Waves this big, she had no idea how they were going to accomplish it and no faith that the instructors would wave them off.

It was going to take at least two people, with the rest fighting to keep the boat from crashing into them or getting caught on the rocks and ripping open or capsizing onto them and catching all of them between. While she’d like to be able to put her two strongest out of the boat, she was going to need at least one of them to help manhandle it if necessary. Hayworth was big enough for two of them, and the other one was stronger than he looked and maneuverable.

“Hayworth! Uh...Smith! You’ll guide us in. Kane, I’m going to need your eyes on the bow. Shepard, Alphabet, Leng, be ready to hold us down. I’ll bail.”

“Aye aye, ma’am,” Hayworth said crisply.

She hated shit like this. Her biotics could enhance her strength, but they did little to help in these situations. She wasn’t big enough or heavy enough to do much against the weight of the raft. She wasn’t tall enough to reach either side of it like the others. Irrational thinking of herself as useless, sure, since there were other areas she excelled in, but she detested feeling helpless.

“Berm!” Kane announced. “Two pairs of lights...they’re waving us in. What the shit? They can’t seriously expect us to do this.”

“They can and they will,” she said. “If we can’t handle this, we don’t deserve to be here. They keep telling us N-school isn’t for the weak of heart. Let’s get in there and show them we belong here.”

She was less confident than her words. The waves grew larger the closer to shore they went, and she could barely see the rocks for the spray shooting up into the night sky, even with the floodlights illuminating their LZ. Just getting the pair out of the boat to bring them in was going to be a bitch. For the moment, her exhaustion and the pain in her raw ankle were forgotten as adrenaline flooded her system.

There had to be a way to do it, right? The instructors didn’t set them up for failure. Well, except for Kirkland and Torres, but that was specifically directed at her and Mark rather than the whole team and setting them up to ring out was a far cry from setting them up to die. That meant there had to be a way, or that they at least believed there was. She wished that she could stop a short distance out and take the time to puzzle it out, but the ocean was pushing them inexorably forward and the best they could do was try to control the speed of their entry.

The others back-paddled to slow them down as she craned her neck to get a better view. Another team had drawn up on their three, fighting just as hard as they were. Behind them, the rest would be circling, awaiting their turn to land. The zodiac surged forward in spite of their efforts, raking itself along the rocks with a scrape they could feel through their boots. Hayworth and Smith jumped out, tow line in hand, and struggled to keep their footing through another wave that pounded down into them.

“You have _got_ to be motherfuckin’ _shitting_ me…” Shepard grumbled.

“Ours is not to question ‘why’, ours is but to do and die,” Sheffield intoned back.

“Aren’t you just a right little fuckin’ ray of sunshine blastin’ out your ass,” her battle snapped at him.

“Hey!” she interrupted.  “Hold it together, guys. All that teamwork bullshit we get slammed into us? This is when it fucking counts. We work together or we’re going to fucking die. Period.”

And they might regardless. Hayworth and Smith were fighting to keep their feet under them and their grip on the bowline. Water slammed over them, battering their tortured bodies and making both sight and breathing near-impossible. Sheffield’s oar flashed out, catching against the sharp boulders, and shoving the boat away from them.

She saw Hayworth wrap the line around his wrist and heard Shepard shout a warning just as the wave receded, taking the zodiac with it and yanking the man off of his feet. Smith reached out, attempting to grab him, and both disappeared into the churning black water. Another wave slammed into them, jabbing the bow forward over the point where they’d submerged. Red wasn’t sure if she imagined the rolling thumps beneath her feet or not as they all scrambled to avoid being caught on the berm and move the boat so that it wasn’t blocking the pair from surfacing.

It was a useless endeavor and they all knew it, but even Leng was scouring the water with his eyes as he threw his weight into the port side in an attempt to keep it from rising out of the water on the next wave. Sheffield and Shepard dove for the side as well while Red and Kane thrust their oars out in a vain attempt to push them off of the rocks. The starboard side of the boat snagged, dipping into the dark water. It was enough.

She heard frantic shouting from the direction of the other boat mingling with their own as they went flying. The dark inflatable loomed over them for an instant before crashing down onto them, wedging their softer bodies between its unyielding surface and the unforgiving stones beneath them. Red heard herself cry out in pain and waited to feel the pops of her bones cracking under the force.

Someone shoved the boat off of her and she looked up, expecting to see Mark. For an instant, she thought it was, and then Sheffield bent down and offered her a hand. She ran a quick check, and feeling nothing vitally damaged, took it, her head snapping to and fro in search of her battle buddy. She found him face-down between two rocks a few feet away, unmoving, and scrambled over the slick stones to get to him.

Another swell thundered over them just as her hand buried itself in Mark’s collar. Distantly, she heard Alphabet shout for someone named John, but she didn’t have time to worry about the others. She dug her fingers into a pocket of the rock nearest and braced for the inevitable pull, her biotics flaring around her. Her muscles strained and she prayed mindlessly to Kalahira through gritted teeth to give her just one more fucking minute. The drell goddess of oceans wasn’t taking this one to the goddamned sea.

A pair of hands wrapped around her arm and another latched onto Mark’s waistband, Alphabet and Sheffield dragging them back onto the relative safety of the berm. Red clutched Mark’s shirt as she flipped him over, finding a bloody streak on his forehead. “Medic!” she shouted. “We need a goddamn medic! Crew Three, count off!”

“Sheffield and Leng, accounted for, minor injuries!” the former informed her.

“Pryczmatrivet and Kane, accounted for. His leg’s fucking busted, though,” Alphabet said. “It’s alright, buddy. You’re going to be ok.”

Moreno appeared at her elbow, his omni-tool glowing in the chaotic darkness. He grabbed both of them, wedging himself on his ass between two rocks as another wave crashed over them, and was up again before the water had fully receded. “Unconscious,” he stated, hauling her battle up over his shoulder and carefully navigating the hazardous berm. Other instructors raced over, helping Sheffield and Alphabet carry Kane. Leng glanced over his shoulder at the water and ducked his head, leaping across the wet rocks. Red followed close to Moreno, unwilling to let her battle out of her sight until they were on solid ground again.

The other boat crew who’d attempted the same landing straggled in, one of the females sobbing and gesturing sharply toward the water. Red blinked in shock at the grim sight, feeling oddly dissociated from the entire scene. The pounding surf behind her was as muted as the voices. People seemed to move in slow motion around her. It snapped into clarity, urgent shouts, piercing screams, and the peal of the bell slamming into her awareness when Torres clicked her fingers in front of Red’s face.

“Report, Lieutenant.”

“Two--two missing. Hayworth and Smith. They went down before we capsized. Shepard is unconscious. Kane has a broken leg and possible other injuries. Sheffield, Pryczmatrivet, and Leng are mobile and have no visible injuries. The boat is...I’m not sure where the boat is, ma’am.”

“Don’t worry about the damn boat, Lieutenant,” she said. “Are the two missing in the water or on the shoal?”

“In the water, ma’am. I didn’t see them surface,” Red told her, numb.

Behind Torres, more instructors flashed their guide lights, waving the other boats off to the secondary LZ. They should have made that goddamn call before. Torres’ attention turned to Kirkland and Red used the opportunity to go to Shepard and Moreno. Mark was on his side, heaving into the sand, but conscious again. Moreno had a bandage pressed against Mark’s head and was asking him questions to ascertain his mental status. She stayed out of the way until the instructor was confident that he was properly oriented and then dropped onto the sand beside him, her own pains beginning to make themselves known. She was going to be black and blue in the morning.

“How ya doing, mShep?” she asked.

“Peachy-keen, jelly bean,” he coughed wetly, more sea water dribbling out of his mouth onto the sand.  “Might have a bit of a small headache, though.”

She scooted closer, reaching out to take the gauze from Moreno so that he could get to the others, and pressed it to the wound on his forehead. “That might be an understatement, I’m thinking,” she said.

“Stay here,” Moreno ordered. “Don’t let him move until the doc can take a look at him.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered. “How’s Kane?”

Moreno looked over at the other soldier and received a slight head shake from the medic working him. “Recycled, if he’s lucky. I told them to call this off. I’m sorry about your crewmates, Lieutenants.”

“...how many?” Shepard ground out, rolling slightly to look up at him..  

“Two in yours?” Red nodded at him. “And three in the other boat.”

“And you got knocked out and almost dragged out to sea yourself,” she told him. He coughed again.

“Had to make sure your ass stayed in the boat as long as possible,” he muttered, trying to push himself up.  She put her hand on his shoulder and pressed down. Mark stilled under her touch.

“I’ll be honest,” Moreno said, “when I saw you two over there, I thought we’d lost another one. I don’t know how the hell you held him.”

“Biotics are a hell of a thing,” she said, tipping her head to get a better look at Mark’s face. Aside from the one gash, he was just bruised. “I wasn’t sure I could do it, either. It’s ripping out there.”

She looked around again, finding Sheffield leaning heavily against Alphabet with the other man’s arms around him. Leng sat off alone, staring out at the water. The medics loaded Kane up onto a stretcher and carried him to a waiting ambulance. Of the remaining five from the other team, three sat huddled together, one had already rung out, and the other was being loaded onto another ambulance. What a goddamn clusterfuck.

“...what now?” he asked her, blue eyes glazed in exhaustion as he looked up at her.  “We’re fucked. Down to three now?” He tried to sit up again.

“Don’t move,” she reminded him, pressing her hand against his chest again, her brow furrowing. “We’re down to five. I assume they’ll shuffle the crews again. We’ll probably absorb what’s left of Crew One. That’ll get us up to eight. Alphabet, Sheffield, and Leng are still in.” He’d gotten rung a bit harder than she’d realized.

Mark blinked, trying to process what she was saying. “Five.  Huh. That’s...huh. Ok, then. Christ, I can’t fuckin’ _think_.” He winced.  “...where’d I get three from?”

“Wishing Leng away and not counting yourself, maybe?” she suggested. Damn it, she didn’t want to have to get used to another buddy. No way in hell she’d find another one she worked with as well as she did Shepard, or another one she trusted the way she did him. If he had to recycle...well, maybe she’d gotten a bit more rocked than she’d realized, too. Starting over would fucking suck, but she’d rather back up a few paces and keep her battle than have to deal with someone new for the rest of the courses.

She shook her head. That was a damn stupid idea. A buddy was a buddy was a buddy, right? Hell, Alphabet would be a decent one if she had to have a new one. ...But she didn’t want Alphabet at her six. No. They’d gotten this far together. She wasn’t leaving his ass behind now, especially not when he’d gotten hurt trying to take care of her. Fuck that. If he recycled, she recycled.

“Heh.  That must be it.  Kinda stopped thinkin’ of you ‘n me as ‘two’, I guess.  We’re always up each other’s ass, so we’re just ‘one’. And Leng can ring out any time he fuckin’ wants to, no skin off _my_ back.”  Shepard’s eyes flickered closed.

“Hey,” she said, gently nudging him. “Wake up, big guy. I know you’re tired. But you need to keep your eyes open till the doc can get here. That’s protocol for head injuries, right? I can’t fuckin’ remember anymore.”

“Is for horses.”

“...what?”

“Hay.  Is for horses.” He sighed, causing another round of coughs rattling in his chest.  “Fuck. This. Shit. I thought sleep was the best thing for shit like that. Let the brain rest and repair itself.  No screens, though. Or music. Or anything fun.”

“After a CT, yeah. But until then, I gotta monitor your alertness, make sure nothing’s pressing anywhere it’s not supposed to be. Not quite sure what’s considered a baseline at this level of sleep dep, though,” she muttered, her head bobbing before she snapped it up and blinked to focus. “Hey, DI Moreno! Where’s the doc? And what’s going to happen with Hell Week?”

“Wells has a punctured lung,” Moreno said, walking back over to them. “Doc’ll be back here once he gets him to the hospital. Our other on-call doctor isn’t answering his pages. Someone’s driving out to wake him up. Just be patient. As to Hell Week, it goes on. We can give you guys a few extra hours to recuperate, but we can’t stop it just for a handful of people. If you can’t train, you recycle. If you can get through two more days, though, _then_ we can give you a break.”

“I dunno about you, fem _Shep_ , but I’m not trash to be left out for recyclin’.  Just get the damn medic over here so I can get cleared and we can move on.”

“I _am_ a medic,” Moreno told him. “And I say you see the doc and get a CT before you come back onto my beach. As long as they clear you back, though, you’re good to go.”

Mark blinked, furrowing his brow and focusing on Moreno.  It looked like it took more effort than it should have. “Sorry, sir.  I just… don’t want to fail out.”

“You’re not going to fail out over this, devil dog,” Red told him, swapping the soaked gauze for a new strip and pressing it against his head again. “Worst-case scenario, we start over. They can’t kick you out when they’re the ones that fucked this up. They should have called it as soon as they saw the waves. Hell, I’d bet the other crews are having trouble just getting onto the beach in this.”

“Brochures fuckin’ lied.  No goddamn vacation. I want a refund.”

“I know, right? I thought I was signing for a package, next thing I know, I’m in OCS and they’re sending me out into space,” she joked. “Remind me to read the fine print next time.”

He swiped a playful hand at her hat.  “That’ll teach ya.”

She straightened it with a grin. “At least your hand-eye coordination’s ok.”

“‘M fine.  Not the first time I’ve been knocked out, though it’s the first time in water, I will give it that.”

“Did Moreno check your lungs?” she asked. “You shouldn’t have gotten that much, but still.” She scooted in, pressing her ear to his chest. She should have thought of that earlier. Wouldn’t do to have him drown on dry land. “Breathe, mShep. Gotta make sure you didn’t aspirate half the ocean.”

He inhaled noisily and coughs immediately shook him again, spitting up more dribbles of water. “Fuck. This. _Shee-it.”_

“Make sure they get you a chest x-ray, too,” she said, sitting back.

Where was that damn doctor? If they got him treated fast enough, he’d probably be okay to finish training, though he was going to need as much rest as she could get him. That would be easier said than done. Everyone was at the end of their strength and now one of her strongest people was down. Rest meant winning and winning meant pushing harder than would be wise. If it was a mission, she’d do it anyway, but the ultimate objective of this was to get through to graduation. Pushing him into a fucking aneurysm wouldn’t accomplish that.

The doctor ran over, accompanied by a pair of medics, and scanned Mark with his omni-tool before getting him onto the stretcher to load into the ambulance. Red forced herself to her feet and followed, pausing to give Alphabet command of the team while she was gone. Sheffield would have been her first choice, but he’d just been through what was probably one of his worst nightmares, and he seemed to take deaths harder than the rest of them. Alphabet acknowledged the temporary transfer and Red hopped into the ambulance.

She spent the next hour impatiently pacing the halls until a nurse herded her into an exam room and brought another doctor in to examine her. Fractured ribs, a bruised hip, a minor concussion of her own, and a plethora of scrapes and cuts meant she’d gotten out lucky. Medigel took care of the cuts--and the damn raw spot on her ankle--and the others were deemed insignificant enough to allow her to continue training. She was given a handful of Motrin® and dismissed.

Mark was waiting for her in the lobby. The cut on his head was sealed with a sheen of medigel, and the glazed look in his eyes had minimized to just a daze. He hauled himself out of the chair when he saw her and they slowly made their way back to the beach where the rest of the teams had finally joined theirs. Crew One’s remaining people, the twins and another woman, stood clustered near the trio from their team. Red and Mark transferred their med clearances to Moreno’s omni-tool. He checked it and nodded, gesturing for them to join the others.

Kirkland sneered as she walked by. “Congratulations, femShep. That’s three under your watch now.”

“With all due respect, sir, fuck you,” she snapped. “ _You_ should have made sure Rheinscheld got the help she needed. _You_ should have redirected us to the secondary LZ as soon as you realized this one was non-conducive. By my count, that’s three under _your_ watch.”

Mark snaked a hand around her neck and clapped a hand over her mouth, pinning her to his side.  “Ease down, little girl. Not the right time,” he murmured.

Red struggled against his hold, her fingers digging into his hand as she glared at Kirkland, her biotics wreathing around her. Mark’s flared in response, immediately trying to damp them down. His arm increased in pressure on her, trying to get her to stop squirming. She could take him. She was sure she could, especially right now, but damn it, he was right. She huffed and stopped fighting. Her biotics dampened, leaving them in the dark again.

“Stop! Both of you! Kirkland, go to the trucks. MShep, get her back in formation,” Moreno snapped. “I don’t know what the problem is between you two, but we are going to have a meeting once this week is over.” He turned and accompanied Kirkland back to the trucks, the words ‘inappropriate’ and ‘unprofessional’ drifting back to them.

“I know you want to give him a slice of hell right now, and one he richly deserves, but think it through, Kate. He can boot you from the program.  That what you really want?” her battle muttered, half dragging her back to line.

“He can’t kick me for that,” she groused. “Make my life hell, sure. But Moreno’s onto him now. Still, shouldn’t have lost my temper. I just...fuck, man. He needs to talk to a shrink or something. This bullshit is getting old. Two of our crew fucking _died_ directly because of a call _he_ should have made, and he wants to try to put that shit on me? Fuck _him_.”

“He might not be able to kick you for this, no, but you honestly think he’d let that stop him?  He’d find somethin’. It’d be inconsequential and pedantic as shit, but he’d work it. We can work it out in the gym later after this shit is fuckin’ _over_ and we get some sleep if you need.  Or a stiff fuckin’ drink.”

“I’ll work it out over his head with my goddamn shotgun,” she muttered darkly. “Fucking asshole. How the hell he made it to N7 as fucking _sensitive_ as he is, I will never understand.”

He bit back a grin.  “Someone labeled it ‘heart’ and ‘listens to his gut’ along the way instead of callin’ him a pansy ass as they should have.  Don’t matter. What matters is he’s where he is and we’re where we are.”

“Still here,” she said. “And the more he hates it, the better I like it. This is why we’re friends, mShep.”

“Fuckin’-a right.”  

Moreno returned and they snapped to attention as quickly as they could. He shook his head at her, disappointment written across his features. She shrugged it off. She respected Moreno, sure, but she was fucking _done_ with Kirkland’s bullshit. He wasn’t going to take his guilt over Blondie out on her and he sure as hell wasn’t going to put Hayworth and Smith on her. Fuck that. He needed to deal with his own shit.

“Pastores, Shetty, you’ll go with Crew Three,” Moreno said. “Shetty, Leng, you’re a team. Sheffield, Alphabet, I want you two together.”

Mark bit back a snort. Red smirked up at him. _Hate to break it to ya, DI, but I think they already are._ The shifts would be good, though. They really did work well together and gods knew they needed all the help they could get, given that everyone on their team was either injured or traumatized or both.

Moreno raised a brow at them and took a deep breath. “And I just want to tell you all that I’m proud and impressed with all of you. Even after this, not a single one of you has even looked at that bell. You haven’t complained. You haven’t questioned. You got your shit together again and said, ‘Let’s do this.’ That is what being an N soldier is all about. You may have questioned whether you belong here. Don’t. I’d be proud to serve with any of you. Now, you need a new boat.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K_S A/N: Shout out to all of the real-life SEALs, Rangers, PJs, Airborne, Spec Recon, etc. who have shared their experiences in the various spec ops training programs, which make this story possible, and who put themselves through this hell of their own volition to better serve their countries and increasingly lately, the world. Also, a special thanks to my husband (who actually reads my stuff, *gasp*) for indulging my ten million questions on 'What's this really like? How does this work? What does the skin of a zodiac feel like? Hey, put your instructor voice on and chew someone's ass for doing this thing. No, slow down. Slower. I can't type that fast!' You rock.


	9. Bicycle Kicks for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“If you are going through hell, keep going.”_ ~Winston Churchill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild trigger warning, I suppose, for some light psychological torment. Nothing as bad (imo) as in previous chapters, but still. Better to warn than not. We apologize for the delay in getting this chapter out, but we were on a mini-hiatus while we got our Big Bangs done and posted! Now that they're done, we're back!! YAAAAAY
> 
> Find Kate_Shepard's [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14841668/chapters/34353629).
> 
> Find potionsmaster's [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14801888/chapters/34245908).

**_Unbreakable_** , by Kate_Shepard and potionsmaster

 

Rating: E for sex, drugs, rock n’ roll, and country.  Otherwise known as ‘Violence out the wazoo’ and actual country.  (Country needs a warning label.)  Heed the warnings and tags, kiddies.  It ain’t pretty.

 

 **Chapter 9:** _Bicycle Kicks for Two_

 

_~*~*~*~_

 

Mark couldn’t help it; he was on his knees, arms curled underneath him and forehead in the sand, laughing his motherfuckin’ _ass_ off.  It was ridiculous under normal circumstances, but after the week they had, it was the funniest thing he’d ever experienced outside of seeing the orange pyjak belly dancing with the elcor the other day.  Kate was face planted in the sand directly in front of him, ass waving in the air before she fell over wheezing herself. Here they were, N school cadets, playing goddamn leapfrog and failing miserably; she was supposed to have cleared him, but the extra cloth between her legs had clipped the back of his head and simultaneously made him eat grit and her to fall forward.  Sleep deprivation made both their reflexes too slow to catch themselves or correct and the results of which were funnier than they should have been otherwise.

“Keep moving, soldiers!  MShep, you’re up. Complete the row until you hit the line, then come back to the starting line,” Vasquez said crisply.  He snickered to himself, unfolding his deadened and stiff limbs while he watched his battle tuck herself into a ball on the ground.  Why he couldn’t just walk over her, he didn’t know, but the DIs said ‘leapfrog’, so leapfrog it was. He placed his hands on her back and vault/waddled over her before collapsing in a lump on the ground himself for her to return the favor.

Asinine as this exercise was, it had to better than the 24 hours straight of surf torture and beach exercises they’d done previous.  He lost track of how many times they linked arms with the water crashing over them, how many times the bell rang, how many times they threw themselves on the ground and crawled into scrum piles only to get up and do it all over again.  His lungs had a constant burning ache in them ever since rock portage at night and the relentless salt in the air wasn’t helping matters. His hands trembled no matter what he did at this point and he didn’t know if it was the sleep deprivation, the cold borne of consistent wet clothes, the physical exhaustion, or the minimal food they’d been given to make sure they didn’t starve.  Time was meaningless; it was just keep doing what they were told to until they were told to stop. Seconds were hours and hours were seconds.

Nighttime had been an interesting break in the monotony with a different kind of drudgery.  They had to use their oars to dig a pit. “Grab your oars! I’m cold and I want a fire! Use your oars to dig a hole.  Make it deep enough so the wind won’t put it out before it gets going. That storm is moving in and it’d be a _damn_ shame for the wind to ruin all your hard work,” Torres snapped at them, jaw set.  Kirkland had taken an oar and was futzing around just beyond where they could easily see what fresh hell he was cooking up for them.

“FemShep!” he called a few minutes later, eyes glinting in the hazard lights of the truck a little ways down the beach from them.  “You feeling lucky tonight?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” she shouted back, glancing at Mark with her oar stuck at an angle in the sand.  He shrugged back at her, nonplussed. Fucked if he knew what Kirkland had planned. Not like they could really do much of anything to retaliate.  

“Boat crew three!” the DI’s tight voice rang out, pausing them in their digging once more. “Gather ‘round, termites.  You’re going to watch your team lead either hit the jackpot for you or throw you to the sharks.”

Mark moved numbly with the crowd to where Kirkland was leaning nonchalantly on his oar, three human-sized lumps of sand in a neat row in front of him.  _What the damn hell…_

“Watch your _step_ , Shepherd,” Kirkland said acidly.  “Pay your respects and don’t step on the graves.”  Mark simply blinked, numb. He supposed it might have an effect on a few of the others, but they weren’t real graves.  They couldn’t be; there were no actual bodies in the sand. He refused to let his mind wander back to different dirt, different furrows and different mounds, different stars in the sky.  Kate stared back at the DI, not giving an inch. _Atta girl...stay your ground_.  “I’m gonna give your crew a chance to rest, Shepherd.  Time to see exactly how lucky you are.” Kirkland nodded to the ‘graves’.  “These are your fallen crew. One was buried with their oar. You get one chance to find it.  Shove your oar in a grave, see if you hit wood or a body. Got it?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” she said, face grim and blank.  The scar on her eyebrow that etched a line over her nose stood out in sharp relief against her pale skin as her eyes roved over the mounds of sand.

“Tick, tock, _Shepherd…_ ” Kirkland hissed at her, low enough so most of them wouldn’t hear.  “Pick one. Which will it be? Hayworth? Smith? Who’s got the oar?”

“Which one’s which, sir?” she asked flatly, nodding at them.  Mark glanced between them; helluva time for Kirkland to force a battle of wills.  

“What’s it fucking matter which one’s which?  Just pick one.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly and stepped forward, taking an oar. “I’d say it matters considerably to you, sir. However, since you’re not sure who’s who, I think this one’s probably Hayworth. It’s pretty tall. And this one’s a bit wider than the others, so that looks like Smith. And this one’s a little smaller, so I’d guess…” She locked eyes with the drill instructor and jammed her oar into the sand, a tiny smile quirking her lips as it came to an abrupt stop. “ _Rheinscheld._ ” Kirkland’s sneer dropped.

 _That’s right, little girl.  Beat ‘im at his own game. Twisted fuck…_ He vaguely wondered what Moreno would have done if he’d overheard Kirkland, but he wasn’t on duty for this part of their evolution.  The DI’s had a rotating schedule while the cadets underwent training and Moreno was probably in his own bed sleepin’ the night away like a normal person.  

“Congratulations, Crew Three.  Your team lead earned you all a break.  Don’t waste it,” Kirkland ground out, staring daggers at her.  “15 minutes rest. Get off my beach. If you’re not coming back, have the decency to ring out.  You won’t have to do this anymore. You can go home. _Sleep_. You don’t have to put up with this bullshit.  MORLEY! Do you feel lucky? Boat Crew Six, step forward...”

“Ignore him,” Sheffield muttered to her as they filed up beyond the ‘graves’.

“He needs a shrink,” she replied. “He’s got some serious issues to pull some bullshit like that.”

“Yeah, no fuckin’ shit,” Mark grumbled back to her.  “Didn’t Moreno say there’d be a review once hell week’s done?”  They eased themselves down to the ground, muscles wooden and uncooperating.

“Yeah,” she said, shifting so her back was pressed against his.

“There better be,” Alphabet said, sinking down beside Sheffield. “That was...disturbing. Hayworth and Smith haven’t even been _found_ yet.”

“How’d you know which one to pick?” Cat asked, leaning into her brother. Leng and Shetty sat down to the side a few feet apart.

She shrugged. “I’d be willing to bet he’s bad at poker. His eyes went to that one for a second when he said ‘oar.’ So I went with it.”

Mark couldn’t think of anything to say; he doubted very much Kirkland had specifically made the mounds of dirt a ‘grave’ with them in mind and was just capitalizing on the fact that they had three dead and there were three lumps.  He _did_ feel a small stab of triumph for his battle for turning it around on the DI so easily, though; it probably hadn’t even occurred to him that his target might fight back and _win_ .  His eyes drifted shut and he jerked himself awake, limbs twitching.   _Gotta keep awake.  One bite at a time_.

Kate glanced over her shoulder at him, shifting slightly to take a little more of his weight. “Relax, big guy. Get some sleep. I’ve got your six.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I need you on your feet and that means you need rest. Besides, you got me last time. It’s your turn.” Her voice, hoarse from exhaustion and shouting over the crashing waves, softened slightly. “Sleep, Mark. I got this.”

 _Heart you too, babycakes._  He had no idea if he actually said it aloud or if he dreamed it as his eyes drifted closed and he floated, tide matching his heartbeat.

  


~*~*~*~

  


“Giggle-twins, get some water and get your asses to the field again,” Williams intoned, walking past them.  They both suppressed more snickers as they lurched towards the refreshments table, too exhausted to care about anything else.  Sheffield kept stumbling into Alphabet, though how much of that was fatigue and how much of it was a not-so-hidden attempt at flirting remained to be seen.

“This should be interesting,” Kate said, sucking down a bottle of water. “I’ve never played soccer before in my life. I’ll probably trip over the ball and end up face-planting again as tired as I am.”

“I got you,” he said between gulps of water.  “Used to play some years back.” He kept his voice and face neutral; it wasn’t as much of an effort as usual.  The exhaustion had a way of draining any kind of reaction or expression into a flat and numb one, regardless of the topic.

She tossed her empty bottle into the bin and drained a juice cup as well. “It’s basically hockey with feet and a ball instead of sticks and pucks, right? I played street hockey sometimes.”

“Uh, sure.  Yeah. We’ll go with that…” He furrowed his brow.  “...what’s hockey?”

She snorted, grinning. “Two teams, a little flat round disk called a puck, two goals. You use angled sticks to get the puck into the other team’s goal. Usually played on ice with skates, but none of us could afford them, so we just used our shoes and skidded around. Bunch of fights. People really watch it for the fights. Didja know blood bounces on ice?”

“I mean...seems you could describe the majority of sports as ‘two teams, two receptacles for a goal/point check and some apparatus to handle if you want to get down to it.  But it sounds similar enough.”

She gestured at the field. “Those are soccer goals, right? It’s like those, only smaller because the puck’s not as big as a ball, I guess. Somebody stands in front of it and tries to keep it out. Just don’t know the difference in the rules.”

“Yuh.  Um, keep the ball in the lines.  Head to the opposing team’s goal.  Don’t use your hands. You can use your head, your feet...and, uh.  Since you’re a girl, you can cross your arms over your chest to block the ball if you think it’s gonna paste you.  Just don’t grab the ball outta the air, in short, and I think you should be good.”

She nodded, brow furrowed in concentration deeper than he normally saw her in. “You’ve played before. You be team captain, then. No sense in it being me when I don’t know what I’m doing. And I wanna win. Morley’s crew’s beaten us enough this week. Winner gets two hours of sleep instead of just one.”

Mark ignored the churning in his stomach, preferring to blame it on the skimpy rations and a belly full of water than anything else.  “Uh, sure. It’s been _years_ , I dunno how well I’m gonna do, but.  Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve carried a team.”

Her brow furrowed and she blinked up at him, her head cocking as she looked at his forehead. “You ok? You went a little pale. Is your head alright?”

It was the lack of food.  That was all it was. He was getting low blood sugar and getting peaked because of it.  “Fine and dandy. Random memory. My recruiter went to a lot of my games. Dixon, his name was.  Wonder what happened to him.” He finished his water bottle and tossed it in the recycle bin next to the table, moving towards the field where the few remaining boat crews were milling about.

“Oh. Sorry,” she said, following him. “Let me know if your head starts bugging you.”

“The fuck d’you have to be sorry for?” he muttered as DI Vasquez called them to attention

“This isn’t gonna be like your normal soccer game,” she started, holding the ball under one arm and pacing in front of them.  “We don’t care about sanctioned rules for the soccer federation, we just care about keeping you moving. That being _said_ , basics still apply.  No hands except for throw-ins and goalies.  Females can protect their chests, males can protect their groin should the need arise.  Go after the _ball_ , not the player.  This _will not be a full contact match_.  I catch anyone deliberately attacking a player, be it kicking their legs when challenging for control of the ball or slide tackling, you’re out and I’ll send your ass home. Winners get an extra hour of sleep and fifteen more minutes at chow.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am!” they called out.

“Good.  Teams are 12 and 12, all on the field at once. Crew Five, you’ll be split between Three and Six. You four on the left with Three. You four on the right with Six. Decide among yourselves who goes in what position.  Face-off in five.”

Kate motioned for their team to circle up and gestured at him. “MShep’s gonna be team captain. Anybody else played before?”

“I played rugby,” Jack said as the others shook their heads. “Normally, I wouldn’t compare them, but for this, it’s close enough.”

“Alright. Shep, you’re up.”

“Good.  You play goalie, then, Jack.  You’ll be accustomed to it. I want lines of four.  Who’s more comfortable bein’ aggressive in getting the ball from the other team?”  Sheffield raised his hand tentatively. “Anyone else?”

Kate snorted. “Have you met us? I think everybody here’s pretty comfortable with aggression.”

“Hell, yeah,” Alphabet said with a tired grin.

“No shit,” he said, matter of fact. “Bein’ aggressive in general isn’t the question here.  It’s _how_ you’re aggressive.  I’m lookin’ for people who throw themselves in the line of fire.  Like vanguards. Then I need people who aren’t necessarily gonna throw themselves into it unless the opposing team is bearin’ down.  I’m playin’ sweeper, so I’ll be able to move all over the field. As it stands, we’ll have an extra player on the field.”

Sheffield glanced at him.  “I’m actually thinking I’d rather be a midfielder or defender.  I’m better when I can get a view of the field and can plan.” Mark nodded.  

“Sounds good.  Vanguards, y’all’ll be forwards.  Shepherd, Alphabet, Shetty, anybody else?”  Heads shaking and mutters answered him. “Mmkay. Snipers, y’all’re gonna be defense and fullbacks, defend Jack but don’t get in his way.  Your job is to push the ball and the opposition up the field. Do _not_ let either get behind you.” Cat grinned and fist-bumped her brother.

He finished parsing up the team and briefing them on roles on the field, getting into position in the middle of the field for face-off.  Vasquez dropped the ball and it was a mad rush of bodies and legs gunning for the ball. Kate managed to pop free with it on the side and froze, confused look on her face.  

“ _Kick_ the damn thing!” he called, biting back a grin as he tore down the field.  “Pass it to me or Shetty!”

She looked down at her feet and tapped it.

“C’mon, little girl, punt the fucker,” he puffed, weaving out of the group.  “Send it long or push it to someone else! Keep it movin’ forward!” Kate shoved it again and the ball squirted between an opponent’s legs.  She grinned and chased it, keeping her eyes on the ball and trying to evade other players. “Watch out for the-” Morley rushed at her, lashing at the ball between her ankles and they both tumbled onto the grass.  “-that,” he finished lamely. Etheridge gained control of the ball and charged back down the field past Shetty and Alphabet.

This was...ok.  As long as he kept his feet moving, his thoughts stayed still.  He was still feeling a bit queasy and his head pounded, but he still attributed that to too much water sloshing in his stomach and not enough solid food.  Sheffield managed to stop Etheridge and launch the ball up the field over the players’ heads. A quick scan of the field showed Shetty was lingering close to the opposition’s defense line, being careful not to get behind them

Mark didn’t hesitate; he bolted after it and popped up over the field, heading it towards the black-haired woman.  “SHETTY! ON YOUR TWO!” It took a moment for her to register the ball scuttling past her and towards the fullback line.  She chased it and did fairly well at keeping her eyes up while keeping the ball in front of her. Morley dove in front of her to try and grab the ball but she chipped it into the net.

 _One-zero_.

“Reset!  Face-off, midfield!  Move it!” Vasquez bellowed, tweeting her whistle.

“Kate, take it,” he panted.

“What do I do with it?” she asked, hands on her knees and hair sticking to her temples.

“Get the ball and send it to the opponent’s goal.  Take the shot, or give it to Alphabet to do it. He’s fast enough to break out of the pack.”

“Well, yes. I figured that much,” she said, a look of frustrated concentration on her face. “Fuck. I can’t _think_ , I’m so tired. I missed the first one. I’m seeing three balls, and I can’t currently remember if this is day five or six or how much longer we’re out here. I got a little concussed, too. Probably making it worse.”

He paused, thoughts sluggish in his brain.  That would definitely do it. “Vasquez just said, face-off, circle in center field.  She’s gonna drop the ball between you and Walker, and you’re both gonna kick at each other for it.  Make sure it’s you that wins. I know you’re aggressive enough to get what you want. You want the ball goin’ towards their goal.”

She straightened, nodding. “That’s what I was looking for. How the ball gets in play, I mean. Got it.”

“NOW, teams,” Vasquez shouted.  “Stop dawdling.” They lined up on their respective sides of the line and the DI dropped the ball with another whistle tweet.  “Ball in play, GO!” Alphabet broke from the line, ducking around his challenger and sprinting down the field. Holy fuck, but he was _fast_.  Even with being this rundown, he was a camo-print streak down the field.

Kate looked surprised to find herself actually in control of the ball and managed to worm her way to the edge of the field, angling towards Alphabet. That was actually pretty neat to see; her eyes sparked a bit as she moved, chancing a glance or two up the more her confidence grew in handling the ball. Just then Casey split from the fullback line and rushed her, feinting at kicking her legs to try and trip her up.  Mark snorted; femShep pretended to stumble and smashed into Casey, shoving him back.

“GET IT TO ALPHABET!” he yelled to her, cutting around another defender and camping in front of the goal; if Jake needed to dump the ball, he wanted to be in a good position for him.  Kate swept the ball in a pretty arc to their teammate. Alphabet grabbed it and blasted past the defensive line like a freight train. _Yes!  Get it in there!_  If they could keep this pace up, they had would have the game in the bag.  He could almost feel the pillow cradling his head, the relief that would course through him as they were finally able to lay down and rest.

Fuck.

“On your SEVEN! _JAKE!_ ” Keller darted around him and stole the ball, booking it down the field.  Mark hauled ass after Keller, long legs eating up the ground. His legs screamed at him; he shouldn’t go all out like this.  Fuck, though...it’d been a damn long time since he’d played and he realized with a start he _missed_ it.  No time to think about it, though.  He cut in front of Keller and struck at the ball.  No go; Keller passed it up the field to one of his team mates and she sunk it deep in the corner pocket of the goal.  

 _One up_.

The game wore on, an ebb and flow of bodies chasing the ball up and down the field.  It wasn’t so much a game of skill, he snorted to himself, as it was a game of ‘keep the ball away from nobody knew who really to keep it away from.’  He supposed that was more what the DIs were trying to do; last he knew, soccer wasn’t a particularly useful skill on the battlefield. The score creeped up slowly.  Alphabet managed to redeem himself and score: _Two-one._  Then the other team rallied, taking advantage of Jack taking a shot to the head with the ball and being slow to shake it off, sneaking another couple in quick succession.   _Two-three._

No way in fuckin’ _hell_ was he going to let that stand; his team needed sleep.  He ran a shaking hand over his buzz cut, gazing over his teammates. Sheffield was creeping along, still in the game but moving slow.  Cat faired a little better but was still dragging ass.

A red-haired blur pounded up the field, gunning for all she was worth towards Morley in the goal box.  Shetty bounced the ball up to her and Kate ran it straight passed the goalie. _Three up._   

“HELLS yeah!” she yelled, seeking him out with both hands above her head, “Uuuuuuup _top!_ Did you _see_ that? _Fuck_ yes…”  He grinned at her, smacking their palms together.  She earned it; he could admit it.

“Good job, little girl.  Now do it again. Make me proud.”  

“You know I’d beat anybody else’s ass for calling me that, big guy,” she said with a smirk.  

“Uh- _huh_.  Right back atcha.  ‘Big guy’? Really?  Not very creative,” he teased as they made their way to center field for the face-off.  He’d take it this time; the last time Keller got cocky against his battle and only remembered at the last minute that it wasn’t a full contact game.  Keller raised his eyebrows as he tipped his head up to look at him.

 “‘Sup, man?” Mark smirked.  The shorter man simply nodded at him, glazed expression on his tired face.  The whistle tweeted and Vasquez dropped the ball between them. No contest, Mark lunged at him and Keller flinched out of the way, clearing a path for Mark to take the ball and rush the field.  “Shetty, take it!” He passed it to her behind him, faking out Morley and making the goalie throw himself to the right. The black-haired woman tuck the ball neatly in the left side. _Four-three_.

Alphabet managed to win the next face-off and blazed up the field again in quick succession, lobbing it over Morley and they all stared dumbly for a moment, exhausted.   _Five-three_.  Everybody was slowing down now, movements sluggish and stiff.  “Ten minutes left,” Vasquez called out. “Make ‘em count!”

 They all crawled back to the center for face-off.  Gaunt faces and hollow eyes stared, waiting for the never-ending ball drop.  Mark took point again this time. His team was sputtering out and almost on empty; it was on him as ‘captain’ to see it through and carry them to the end if he could.  He wiped sweat off his forehead, brushing his scar. Thank god this time he didn’t get a repeat of how he’d acquired it this go around, though rock portage at night a few...days ago?  Felt like months-had certainly tried. The skin on his forehead was still sore and uncomfortably tight, medigel simultaneously providing relief and annoyance over the superficial cut.

 Vasquez blew the whistle in a shrill burst, dropping the ball between him and the faceless, nameless body across the line from him.  He tapped it through their feet and Keller promptly tangled their feet together, fighting for control of the ball. Fucked if he was going to let him wrest the ball from him; he was better than that.  

 After a minor scuffle, Mark finally broke away from him and saw his opportunity.   _Yes!_   Open line to the goal.  He pushed himself, running hard.  “Shepard, what the hell are you _doing_?” Leng yelled from midfield.  Mark ignored him; everyone was leaping out of his way and practically gift wrapping the line to the goal for him.  Sheffield tried to flag him down, waving his arms, but the opportunity was just too damn _good._

 For whatever reason, Jack barrelled towards him, trying to get the ball.  _Hell naw, what the fuck?  What’re you doin’ out of goal?_  Leng appeared out of nowhere on his four, swiping at the ball.  Fuck that shit. They clashed, ball popping up over their heads.  How dare Leng try to get in his way? _Fuckin’ traitor…_

He didn’t think; he leapt in the air and threw his lead leg back, opposite foot connecting solidly with the ball and sending it soaring in a beautiful arc deep in the net as he landed on his back with a grunt.

“NO!  Are you _serious_?? Jack yelled, wiping out himself, trying to reverse direction too quickly and getting his feet tangled.  Mark tipped his head back, staring upside down at the ball.

“The fuck are you yellin’ for? I scored?” he grumped, rolling over and shoving himself up gingerly.  The ache melded with the rest of the dull pain radiating over his body, indistinguishable from all the others at this point.

“Wrong goal, Shepard,” Vasquez laughed. Beside her, Moreno was chortling as well. “Nice kick, though.  That’s game. Final score, five to four. Boat Crew Three and their team wins, even with that magnificent blunder. Tents are set up by the O-course. You have one minute to get to your racks. Everybody else, front leaning rest position, go!”

The twelve of them from their team barreled off the field in the direction of the O-course, grabbing their life jackets as they went. Kate caught his eye and shook her head, face slightly flushed from laughter. “If I’d realized what you were doing, I’d have come after you. I honestly thought it was some kind of weird soccer tactic. Draw the others off their goal and send the ball long or something.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he chuckled at himself, ears pink.  “Happens to the best of us. Beautiful fuckin’ kick, though. Felt good.”

“Looked like you were having fun,” she said, panting lightly as they ran. “Y’know, I think we got this, mShep. Just another, what, day? Two? Almost there. Hard part’s over. Now we just have to make it to the finish line.”

“...I think I was, all things considered,” he replied quietly.   _Been a damn long while_.

Williams was waiting by a long tent lined with cots. “Keep your boots on! Take your life jackets and prop them under your feet, keeping them elevated! You have two hours. I’d better see you racked out in fifteen seconds. Move with a sense of purpose, cadets!”

Finally, a real fuckin’ bed. There was no rhyme or reason to it. People dropped onto cots as they came to them, eyes shutting before their heads even hit the webbed surface. No pillow, but it was better than sand, at least. Kate went to the end of the row, nudging hers over until it touched the tent wall, and fell onto it with a groan, turning so that her back was to the corner. He dropped his life jacket at the end of the cot. Not that it would do much for his feet. Damn things were never long enough. He laid down on his back; sure enough, his boots dangled over the edge. No matter. At least there wasn’t any sand. Within seconds, the tent was silent except for their breathing.

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

They woke up to a rhythmic pounding on the walls and ceiling of the tent. Mark rolled himself stiffly off the cot with a groan, eyes burning.  No way in hell that had been two hours. He just closed his goddamn eyes, then the next thing he knew they were being hounded to move again. Kate groaned and jumped up as the tent wall flexed behind her and something solid hit her back.  They ran sluggishly outside, shouts of “Get up! Get up! I-course, I-course, _now!_ Double-time it!” crackling through the air.  He glanced up at the sky, there was a nasty haze that bleached everything an ashy bone-white.   _Storm’s brewin’_.

They hoofed it down to the infiltration course, tower from the obstacle course looming over them in the distance like a sleeping, wooden guardian, ever-silent, ever watchful of the tiny ants that crawled in neat lines below and over it cycle after cycle, year after year.  The rhythmic pounding of their boots on the ground lulled him into a semi-state of consciousness. He didn’t have to pay much attention to anything besides just keeping moving forward. Any kind of rest was needed at this point, wherever and however one could get it Everything in his body was screaming at him to pull out of line, take a break, just one minute, _one goddamn minute to rest_ , but he ignored it and kept moving.  As long as he kept moving, he could keep going.

I-course spread out before them on the FTX field, neat lines of trenches laid out with strands of wicked-looking barbed wire a few inches above them.

“ _Boat_ crews, HALT!”

Mark stopped short, the rest of the crew lining the edge of the field.  DI’s were spaced out at even intervals between the trenches, rifles on their backs.   _Here we go.  Shit is goin’ down now..._

“Take a knee!”

They all sank laboriously onto one knee, the other one parallel to the ground to support their weary, uncooperating bodies.  A sharp popping erupted from the wooden tower on o-course, making him flinch at the sudden burst of noise, bullets whizzing overhead. Nothing new or different; they’d all been through it before, but never with this amount of sleep deprivation.  Two hours hadn’t done _shit_.  They were all stiff and slow in responses, involuntary twitches in their arms and legs an annoyance that had to be ignored as best they could.  

“Move, move, MOVE!  Let’s go, _MOVE_!”  

As one, they all fell face-first in the dirt, low-crawling under the wire, shouts and gunfire clashing in their ears.

“Do not stand up! _Do not stand up!_ Live rounds on course!” blared over loudspeakers as they dragged themselves along on their bellies, one after the other into the trenches. On either side of them, the other remaining boat crews were doing the same. Someone popped a smoke grenade and within seconds, the other DIs followed suit and the field was covered in a thick, brightly-covered haze.  His already taxed lungs protested at the additional torment to overcome. The increase in humidity hadn’t done him any favors, either. He just wanted to hole up somewhere clear and dry and fuckin’ _sleep_.  The DIs duck-walked between the trenches with rifles pointing into the air, firing at random and shouting at people to keep their heads down.

Time was non-existent.  It raced by in stagnant moments, stretching his task before him into an endless grind that would end in just a few more lengths, if only he kept moving, kept pulling, kept shoving himself along the ground.  Thick, gray clouds piled on top of each other, roiling in over the ocean at a terrifying pace and casting a sick pallor over the field. Thunder boomed around them as thick, fat drops hit the dirt around them. Dirt trickling down his shirt and front of his pants quickly turned into mud, reaching all the cracks and crevasses he wished he never knew about and coating the sides of their faces.

He cast a glance over at his battle, mud smeared on her cheeks and eyes closed, still sloggin’ away regardless.  Microsleep. They’d all done it at some point or another this eternal week. He had to admit, he was somewhat impressed.  Through thick and thin, she had made it this far, sparkly collar or not. _Show dog that actually does its job. Who knew._  He didn’t have the heart to smack at her arm to wake her up; as long as she didn’t pop up into the wire or the live rounds, she’d be alright.  He didn’t know how many minutes crawled by with every pull of their trembling arms. _Mach es fertig_.  Get it done.  

Pull, drag, shove, scrape, wash, rinse, repeat.  Inch by miserable inch they pushed forward, claiming the ground with every hard-fought grunt. ‘Keep your ass down,’ her voice rang out in his head, teasing.  Seemed like a lifetime ago when she had said it to him at o-course. The beginning. Their first steps of walkin’ through hell.

_One bite at a time.  Just one more. You can do this, it’s just one more step.  Keep movin’. Can do anythin’ if you just...keep...movin’..._

Rain blurred his vision, washing off mud on one side of his face only to have more layered on the other side.  The whine of the bullets flying overhead added to the steady soaking pound, melding in his head to a white static that hushed the shouts of the instructors.  A brief moment of respite in the middle of all the chaos, the world closing in on him in a little bubble of his immediate reality. _Crawl_.  Cool mud beneath his hand, almost sticky when it mixed with his sweat.  _Push_.  Wooden muscles moving in spite of themselves, for not moving would be far worse.   _Pull_.  Every inch stretched for miles beneath him, edge of the trench _just_ out of reach until-

 _There_.

He did it.

No more wire above him, clawing at his fatigues with their sharp fingers.  Smoke dissipated, wreathing him in his baptism of fire where he was finally able to lift his head and see again.  Kate fell next to him on the ground, both not wanting to move as disbelief ran through him. One more evolution under their belts, one more middle finger at the brass.  They tried their damndest to scare them off and they refused to be pushed out. One more reason they gave for why they deserved to be at N school. She leaned heavily on him, attempting to wipe the mud off her face but just smearing more into her hair instead.

“Five more minutes,” she muttered to herself. “Just like Elysium. Five more minutes and the Alliance’ll come.”

As abruptly as it started, the gunfire stopped.

“Back to the beach, boat crews! Double time! Double time! I want to see you move with a sense of purpose!” Vasquez ordered. They dragged themselves as quickly as they could back down to the beach and automatically lined up next to their zodiacs.

Moreno walked the line with the others spreading out around him so that each crew’s DI team stood in front of their respective group, their rain ponchos snapping in the wind. _Huh_. They were all there. They hadn’t all been there at the same time since the first day or two. “Flip your boats! Take a knee on top of them. Tallest four in back, shortest four in front!”  


Mark couldn’t even begin to think of whatever fresh hell the DI’s had cooked up this time.  Nothing in his experience had ever called for anybody to be on top of the damn inflatable before, but it probably was some kind of exercise designed to push them to the limits and beyond. Kate knelt down in front of him, propping her forearms over her upraised knee.

“Congratulations, cadets!” Williams shouted when they were arranged to his satisfaction. “You’ve survived hell week!”

They were silent for a moment, absorbing his words, and then a cheer went up. Alphabet high-fived Sheffield and the Pastore twins gave each other a weary hug, beaming. Kate looked up at him with a relieved grin, exhaustion fading for the moment. The instructors called for their attention and each activated their omni-tools and snapped a picture of the filthy teams.

Moreno stopped in the center and called them into a huddle. When they were once again kneeling, this time in the sand with the instructors gathered in front of them, he flashed a smile. “I know you’re all beyond exhausted, so I’ll be quick. You started this week with more than a hundred other people. You’re now down to twenty-four. That may seem small, but our average takeaway is two teams. Look around you. These are your brothers and sisters. You’ve seen each other at your worst, but you’ve also seen each other at your best. You’ve pushed each other and been pushed past your breaking points, and _that_ is why so many of you are left standing. The day you arrived, you were individuals. Now, you’re a part of a team. 

“I’d like to say the hard part’s behind you, and for some of you, it is. But for those of you planning to try to make your way up through the ranks, this is just the beginning. So let this be a lesson to you that your reserves are deeper than you’d think, your determination is undoubtable, your will is unbreakable. Winston Churchill said it best: ‘We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival.’ Whether you intend to come back if you pass this course or not, take the lessons you’ve learned here and hold them close. Now, I’m going to shut up and let you guys go get some sleep. Oo-rah?”

“OOO-RAH!” they all shouted in unison.

Kirkland stepped forward and glowered at Kate before saying, “Return to your barracks. You will each undergo two physical exams by the doctors in the next 24 hours.  Once cleared, you will have 48 hours of liberty before training starts again. Dismissed!”

“Time to go,” Mark said, nodding to the barracks.  “I, for one, do not wish to get any more wet than I have to.  Race you?”

Kate dragged herself to her feet and looked at the dune between them and the path to the barracks. She groaned and then squared her shoulders. “Hells, yes. You’re on, big guy.”

They dashed off towards the barracks in a slipshod, muddy mess, rain washing the mud and the suffering of the past week away with it.

  


~*~*~*~

  


“Oh... _fuck_ …”

“What?”

They dragged their asses in through the door, shucking their muddy clothes without a second thought in a pile by the door and she stopped dead, shoulders slumped.

“I forgot to close the goddamn windows.”

Mark looked over at the open windows above her bed, rainwater comfortably soaking part of her bed.

“ _Mother_ fucker…”  He rushed to get the rest of his muddy BDU’s off and grabbed a couple of towels from his locker while she ran over and started jerking at the frame. Blue light flickered weakly over her skin and died.

“Shit. It’s stuck and I don’t have the energy to add my biotics. Gimme a hand?” she grunted.

He braced himself on the soggy mattress, shoving upwards against the water-logged wood.  It gave with a reluctant screech in fits of starts and stops, closing with a small squelch.  Rain pounded harmlessly against the panes. “At least we caught it before it was too-too horribly wet.  Goddamn…”

“Ugh,” she said, plucking at the sodden pillowcase under her knee. “And here I was hoping for a warm, _dry_ bed to pass out in for the next day.” She yawned, swaying. “Or year.”

“Right?  If only you kept it closed,” he teased.  “Go shower. I’ll strip the bed and put everything in the laundry.  I’m gonna leave the thermostat where it is for now to try to dry out some of the humidity, but once it’s tolerable, maybe, _just maybe_ , I’ll turn it up a couple degrees.  We’ll see.”

She snorted and shook her head. “You’re not half-bad, mShep.” Another yawn cracked her jaw and she tried covering it, but the momentary relief of being done had faded and her hands trembled again. “I’m gonna be lucky not to hit my head in the shower.”

“Make sure you take a couple of protein bars with you, too.  You need calories.”

“Yes, _Mom_ ,” she teased. “I’ve got some nutrigel in my wall locker. Want a pack?”

He pursed his lips, not responding to the gentle rib immediately.  She didn’t know. And he didn’t want her pity if she did eventually learn at some point.  He’d packed it all away, dealt with the resulting numbness, welcomed it, even, and kept it hidden.  Out of sight, out of mind. “Naw, that’s alright. I have my own stash. I’d rather chew asbestos flavored cardboard than suck on some weird kind of gelatin jizz, if it’s all the same to you.”  

The wet sheets joined their soaked uniforms in a separate pile by the door, to be dealt with a little later.  He grabbed another towel out of his locker and draped it around his shoulders. _Dry._  What the hell _was_ that anymore?  He’d forgotten.

Kate swayed in front of her locker, staring blankly at it for a moment before opening it and fumbling inside. She dropped the nutrigel pack twice but finally got it and her own towel, shutting the locker door with a ‘click.’ She glanced at his towel. “Y’know. We’re both dead on our feet. I really might fall asleep and hit my head in the shower and you might, too. And next door’s going to be gunning for the shower, too. Wanna just get it over with before they get to it so we can sleep? Don’t think there’s really that much to hide anymore and it wouldn’t be the first co-ed shower I’ve taken.”

“Flirt.  You just want to see me nekkid,” he said, dragging himself back to his feet.

Her playful wink was interrupted by her head falling forward and jerking up again. “You caught me,” she said with a weak grin, blinking at him again to clear her vision. “All three of you.”

“Who’m I to deny?  No peekin’, though,” he snorted and held the door open for her. “At any of my iterations.”

She went through, stripping down to the skin and leaving the articles where they fell. “How’m I s’posed to see you ‘nekkid’ if I don’t peek?” she asked slowly, leaning in to turn the water on and adjust the temperature. She stepped in with a deep sigh, tugging her hair out of its muddy bun. It didn’t fall so much as thunk against the back of her neck in a solid mass, slowly starting to straighten as the water ran over it. “Fuck, yes. I think I’ve got an inch of salt layered on me.”

“Use your imagination?” he offered, peeling off his underwear and sliding in after her. “Probably more fun that way for you.”  He leaned a weary arm on the tiles, eyes closed while waiting for her to be done rinsing away a week’s worth of grime and grit.

“My imagination’s too tired,” she muttered, raking her fingers through the dull brown mass until red started to show through again. She slipped past him, letting him have the spray, and grabbed her shampoo in a shaking hand. She started to slide down the wall, but glanced down and curled her lip at the mud coating the shower floor. “Rain check?”

“....for usin’ your imagination?”  He didn’t get it. He was too tired to process things. The warm water pelted his tired muscles, the heat actually relaxing them, grinding all-over ache reducing to manageable soreness for the moment.  He’d be hurting worse tomorrow, he knew it. Second day of recovery was always worse. Suds lathered all over him before he ducked under the showerhead again to rinse, moving back to let her have it again.

“Uh huh,” she muttered nonsensically, wringing out the dirty shampoo and letting the water carry it away before lathering again until it ran clear. She grimaced when she soaped up her skin. “Good thing I got lotion before we went. Skin’s fuckin’ dry. Anyway, you gonna be a good battle and share the bed or you planning to make me sleep in the floor?”

“Make it worth my while,” he said, stepping out and knotting the towel around his waist.  “Share your lotion, I’ll share my bed. I...can’t really believe I said those words, heh. ‘Share your lotion’.  Pff.”

She grinned, eyes half-closed, as she turned the water off and followed him out. “What’s mine’s yours, mShep. Glad I got a big tub of it, though. ...Y’know, I thought about a cigarette the whole damn week, and now, fuck it. Nope. I’m goin’ to bed.”

“Right?  Nothing standin’ in my way of me and my bed.  Long time comin’.” He wiggled into a pair of pajama pants and grabbed his hoodie, lips pursed as he thought a minute, watching her get dressed.  “Here. I know you don’t like it this cold, but we seriously gotta get it drier in here before I can turn up the A/C for you.” He laid his hoodie next to her on her desk and collapsed on his bed. “Fuuuuuuuuck…”

“Thanks,” she said, shrugging into it and pulling the sleeves up so her fingers peeked out. “You’d think the cold would feel good after being out in the sun all week, but I’m just fucking freezing. I just want to be _dry_ for once, though. Don’t ever want to look at the ocean again.” She crawled in beside him, tucking her back almost close enough to touch, and wrapped the blanket around herself. “Ohhh my fucking _gods_ , yes.”

He grunted a response, already half asleep as she nestled in the narrow bed beside him. Hell week was over.

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Wreak Havoc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And if love is real  
>  Maybe I’m just too bad  
> To remember how good it feels  
> My heart is still  
> I can smell your fear  
> The only reason that I’m here  
> Is to wreak havoc_ ~ ['Wreak Havoc', Skylar Grey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1mFLiZ0t6c)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. You. Yeah, you. Remember how we tagged for violence? Yeah. That's a thing.

**_Unbreakable_** , by Kate_Shepard and potionsmaster

 

Rating: E for sex, drugs, rock n’ roll, and country.  Otherwise known as ‘Violence out the wazoo’ and actual country.  (Country needs a warning label.)  Heed the warnings and tags, kiddies.  It ain’t pretty.

 

**Chapter 10:**   _Wreak Havoc_

 

~*~*~*~

 

Red threw back the shot in her glass and slapped it on the bar. “Twelve, babycakes! Beat that!”

Mark shook his head and eyed her with a raised brow. “That’s _all_ you. You ever belched that shit?  Aftertaste is like skunky kerosene.”

Red passed her credit chit over the kiosk and scoffed, “Ladies don’t belch.”

The bar was getting full, but none of the patrons interested her as much as the cowboy casanova standing in front of her in a pair of faded jeans, a soft black hoodie, and worn ropers. She made it a rule not to take her battle buddies home, but a few weeks of watching him walk out of the tiny shower they shared with nothing but a towel hanging low on his slim hips had her thinking of making an exception.

His eyes sparkled in a way that told her she’d walked right into his next comment. “I find it hard to believe anybody made the mistake of calling you a ‘lady’.”

Oh, what the hell? She wasn’t one to pass up an opening like that. “Lady in the streets, freak in the sheets, baby,” she said with a wink, aiming finger pistols at him.

"Yeah, you is," he agreed.

"How would _you_ know?" she asked, cocking a hip out as she leaned against the bar.  He snorted before taking a drink.

“That’s what’s written on the bathroom wall, sweetcheeks.”

She slugged him on the shoulder and he laughed. “You _asshole._  Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, shaking her head.

He chuckled again.  “Might be.”

“You are _such_ a bitch.  You kiss your mother with that mouth?” She shot a teasing glare at him and dragged her lip between her teeth. She _definitely_ wanted to fucking ride him. She’d had that long, lean body pressed up against her enough times in the field to imagine what it would be like without the interference of BDUs.

His eyes locked onto her mouth as she’d hoped. _Payback’s a bitch, baby, and you’re too easy._ "Hell naw. _Jee-yerk._ "

"Someone's drawl is coming out thick tonight," she noted, not taking the bait further.

"Booze speaks, darlin'," he said.

"Yeah, it does. Wish it would speak louder and longer sometimes. Damn biotics," she grumbled, tapping in an order for one more. The thrumming bass of the shit they called music pounding out of the speakers was finally becoming muffled and her vision was beginning to swim. After the week they’d had, she didn’t want to remember her name later tonight.

"Truth.  My credits don't stretch that far," he agreed.

"You know, you'd think they'd pay us more,” she groused. “Protecting the free world, walking the thin red line and all that."

"Pff, right?  Here we are, gettin' our asses kicked, all for our 'betterment' an' sheee-it.  Just makes me wanna...Y’know what, I think that booze is speakin’ plenty loud for you. Unless you were _tryin_ ’ to get a Shirley Temple," he said, pulling her hand away and cancelling her order.

“Just getting warmed up,” she said, raising an eyebrow at the limber fingers wrapped around her wrist. She pushed away from the bar and the room spun.

He put a hand out to steady her and shook his head. “Gonna take all night to get back to base like this.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. Flat on her back might be where she wanted to be, but this was not the place. She ordered her legs to carry her through the room and out into the muggy Rio night. They obeyed until she reached the cracked sidewalk and stumbled again.

“Yeah, this ain’t happenin’,” he said, putting his back to her and going down onto a knee. “Hop up.”

Her eyebrow shot almost to her hairline and she scoffed, “You don’t seriously think--”

“I think I wanna get to bed sometime before reveille,” he cut in. “This is the fastest way. Quit bein’ stubborn, cupcake, and get on.”

She shrugged. The faster they got to the barracks, the faster she could get hers and go to sleep. It had been almost two months since Vancouver and she hadn’t had any since. “All right,” she conceded. “I _have_ wanted to ride you like a trick pony for a couple weeks now.”

"Pfff. I ain't no trick pony. I am a highly trained sport horse if we're keepin' with the analogy."

She braced her hands on his shoulders and hopped up, wrapping her legs around him. His heat seeped through his hoodie and her leather jacket, warming her front. Biotics ran hot, but she’d never seen the benefit of it. Her heat radiated, so she was always cold. Rio didn’t get chilly unless they were wet and the wind was up, but she still enjoyed the warmth coming off his broad back.

“All right, John Henry. Giddyup,” she said with a grin at her own cleverness. John Henry, notoriously bad-tempered racehorse. She thought it apt.

“You gonna give me my head if I run?” he asked, casting a cocky grin over his shoulder at her as he rose.

“Oh, I’ll give you your _head_ , all right,” she breathed against his ear.

“Heh. Good deal. I rebel at being reined too tight.” His hands hooked around her thighs, securing her in place.

“Good thing I like it fast,” she said, sliding her arms around and draping them over his chest.

“Typical bullheaded vanguard. No finesse. Gotta learn to appreciate the journey to the destination.” He hoisted her a bit higher on his hips and began walking, using his hold on her thighs to bounce her in time with his strides. The motion rubbed her breasts against his shoulder blades. She breathed in the scent of their standard-issue laundry soap, the faint smoke clinging to them from the cigarettes they shared, and something warmer that was all him. If he turned her down… She’d just go back to the bar and find someone else. Too bad turians were still almost impossible to find on Earth.

“Yeah? You gonna give me a demonstration on that, big guy?” she asked.

“You gonna make it worth my while?” he teased, steadying out and walking smoothly now.

“Oh, you have _no_ idea,” she said against the side of his neck.

He tipped his head back to look at her. “That sounds like a challenge, there, LT.”

“I’m _always_ a challenge, LT,” she whispered, giving his earlobe a playful nip.

Her biotics were already burning off the ryncol she’d consumed and she was no longer wasted, but the warm buzz in her limbs was pleasurable. She generally wasn’t fond of touching people or being touched outside of the bedroom, but she’d stopped minding it with him at some point during hell week. He was warm and solid and the faint tingle of his biotics had become familiar to her. She wasn’t about to ask him to put her down.

"Hey, now..." He tilted his head to the side, out of her reach. "You didn't even buy me dinner. I ain't giving it up so easy."

"So _you're_ the lady here, hmm? I bought you drinks. That should count for something."

"Means you're one of the guys," he answered. She suppressed a disappointed huff. That was clear enough and _not_ what she’d been looking for, but if he wasn’t into her, that was his prerogative. She wasn’t for everyone and she knew it. “That being said, that doesn't mean it doesn't count for nothin’… Just means you have to try a little harder." He jounced her again and she grinned, anticipation kicking through her veins.

“Oh, is that so?” she asked, smoothing her hands over his chest and whispering her lips along the side of his throat.

“Mmhm.  That is so.” His voice dropped lower with every word, ending in a knowing little chuckle.  He hitched her up again, fingers pressing into her thighs. He chose a different route back to the base than the one they’d taken to the bar, a habit she doubted either of them consciously paid attention to on most days. Routines were dangerous. If an enemy couldn’t predict your movements, they couldn’t lay an ambush.

This one, however, seemed to be leading into one of the rougher sections of town. High-rise apartments gave way to tenements and the sidewalk shattered. After years on space stations and orderly military bases, she finally felt as if she belonged. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the ease of knowing what to expect from her surroundings. Her senses sharpened, attuning to the signs that would mean little to a country boy like him, but served as a road map to her.

Or would have, if she’d been in her own territory. The graffiti decorating the lower floors of a shattered tenement building might as well have been limned in neon. She wasn’t familiar with the layout of the streets here and calling up her omni-tool could paint a larger target on their backs. Military grade ‘tools brought significant creds in the underground market. She’d seen children murdered for their shoes. Attacking them for their omni-tools wouldn’t bring a moment’s hesitation. That they were military would mean little. There were only two of them and they were intoxicated, dressed in civvies, and unarmed. Easy target.  

She remained wary and alert, but not truly concerned until the tags on the buildings began to overlap and compete with each other for visibility. Contested territory, and there was a tension in the air that she hadn’t felt in years but instantly recognized. The very street seemed to be holding its breath, bracing itself for a coming storm. Places like this were never quiet unless they were waiting.

She slid her hand from his chest, over his shoulder and up the back of his neck. Her thumb grazed his amp port, ensuring that it was properly seated. They were going to need it soon if she was reading the situation right. They were walking into a war zone, and she didn’t know the area well enough to ensure that she could get them out of it.

Mark twisted his head out from under her, scowling. “Can I _help_ you with something? Or d’you want me to drop your ass?”

“Sorry, babycakes,” she said absently. “Don’t drop me.” She scanned the street, searching for any point of cover and attempting to outline exit routes that wouldn’t take them deeper into the shit. The vantage point Mark’s back provided was better than her normal one, but still not enough to allow her a sufficient overview of the street. Without giving him time to acknowledge or react, she looped her leg over his shoulder and pulled herself into a sitting position, straddling the back of his neck. His hands automatically came up to brace her thighs and she locked her feet around his ribs. Better.

She wished for more intel on the gangs that were trying to control this particular no-man’s land. She’d identified three different symbols. If all three got involved in this, they could be in trouble. Hell, they were in trouble already. What a denouement it would be if she’d survived the Reds only to die on this dirty street in Rio where she’d come to separate herself from her past? She appreciated the irony of the idea. She could too easily envision her body splayed across the faded asphalt, blood pooling black in the darkness around her torn body. It should have frightened her. It didn’t.

Mark hadn’t picked up on it yet. He didn’t know what to look for. They could continue on their way and in the end, they’d be just another drunk couple caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. A statistic of gang violence to trot out for votes in the next election. A sidebar on the nightly news. And no one would know that the unfortunate soldier who’d taken a wrong turn and gotten caught in the crossfire on a rundown street in Rio was the same girl who’d run the Tenth Street Reds in another country and another life. She’d be with Abby and Gabe again if there was an afterlife.

_You don’t want to die, but you don’t want to live, either,_ a little voice from her memories said.

_Hush, grasshopper._

She tore her attention away from the pavement and scanned the streets. It wasn’t Mark’s fault she was fucked up beyond all saving. She wasn’t going to force him to become collateral damage to her psychosis. Besides, she was itching for a fight. So far, ICT had been little more than classroom time and PT outside of the occasional training exercise with instructors. No real fighting, though, aside from the club that one night.

Below her, Mark slowed. She could feel the tension in his shoulders and the fingers now wrapped around her calves. Her eyes raked the balconies of the squalid apartments above them. Good places for snipers, and sure enough, there was a glint of light off a scope. The shadows between buildings looked too solid for empty space, identifiable as people only by their rounded shapes and the muted colors on their shirts, but so far, she only saw signs of one group. The hair on the back of her neck stood at attention. Ambush.

She hooked her leg over the top of his head and slid down the front of his body, keeping her back pressed to his front. They needed to get out of here. _Now_. But where? There! An empty storefront with no signs of life. Perhaps if they could get there and out of the way, the gangs would be too focused on each other to worry about them. She just needed to keep Mark talking. _Nothing to see here. Just a drunk touristy couple._ She tightened her hold on Mark’s belt loops and imagined she could hear their time slipping away.

Mark finally got it. He stayed close to her back, craning his head too obviously while loosely draping an arm over her shoulder. His fingertips brushed the swell of her breast, but she barely noticed. “Mood’s kinda dyin’,” he said quietly. It seemed he’d had the same idea she did.

“Yep.” She brought her hand up and threaded her fingers through his, leaving them loose enough to pull away. “Eyes forward,” she whispered. “We’re outnumbered.”

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Barriers?”

“Me?” she asked, tilting her head back to look up at him. Fifty meters to the storefront. Movement in her peripheral.

“Yes.”

He didn’t have them and they weren’t carrying shields. She was going to have to expand hers to cover him. Gods, she hoped he’d cooperate, that the team they’d begun building during hell week would hold now that they were out in the real world. He was out of his element. Hopefully, he was smart enough to recognize it and follow her lead.

“I’ve got you,” she assured him. The scrape of a boot on concrete told her that going back the way they’d come wasn’t an option anymore, if it ever had been. “South end’s a no-go.”

He released her hand to run his fingers through her hair and leaned down to murmur against her ear, “Need me to check if it’s seated proper?”

“If you don’t mind.” She nuzzled into his hand, glancing north. The street ended in a courtyard surrounded by buildings. Damn drunken fools they were, they’d wandered into a dead end. There was a reason this area was desirable and that was it. Lure the enemy in, spring the trap.

He pressed his lips against her throat and slid a finger over her port and whispered, “Good for now, but the edge is getting weak. You’ll need to get the integrity checked soon.”

She released a sharp, breathy moan as her pulse jumped and she shivered in spite of the situation. _Chill, bitch._ She shook her head, calming her breathing. Her voice was unsteady when she said against his ear, “It’s a gang. Expect knives, pistols, maybe an SMG. Military-grade omni-tools go for creds on the black market and they can spot you a klick away. If we can’t get to that store in about the next thirty seconds, we’re fucked.”

He nipped her ear. In her periphery, she saw his eyes scan the street again. “What d’you wanna do?”

She ran her fingers up the back of his neck, through the hair on his head and down again. “Trust me?”

His soft exhale stirred the hair by her ear. “Fuckin’ ooo-rah.”

She released his head and slid her hand around his waist behind her, locking her fingers in his belt loop and jerking his hips into hers. _Here goes nothing_. She carried her armor and weapons with her. Why not a person? It should work. If not, he’d just end up missing belt loops and he never wore a belt except when uniform required it, so it wasn’t like he needed them. And if it _did_ work... “This is gonna be fun,” she said with a grin. She pulled his arm around her chest, locking his hand onto her shoulder. “Hold tight. Don’t let go. And for fuck’s sake, _don’t_ panic. I’ve got you.”

“Mission a-go,” he said.

She shifted to face the doorway, her eyes locking on a spot just before it, and shifted her weight to her toes. The visualization was second-nature by now. Dark energy flowed through her body, pooling in her right foot. She tightened her arm around his waist and slammed her heel to the pavement. Her biotics flared and his responded, wrapping them in a glowing corona. The street warped around them and an instant later, they were rocking to a halt in front of the store. _Fuck, yes._ Mark stumbled, but she caught him before he could push her into the wall. Apparently, adepts didn’t pick up the time displacement she was awarded at the end of a charge.  

Unfortunately, it was enough to crack the tension around them. Before they could get into the cover of the store, the street erupted in a hail of gunfire. She threw her barrier around them and dove behind a dumpster with her arm still around his waist. They skidded on their sides and then righted themselves. She released her hold on him, but kept her fingers against the small of his back. Her amp was maxed out. The port was already getting warm. This was on him until they got in range.

“Warp, two o’clock!” she ordered. He lobbed the attack without hesitation, immediately following it with a throw. Their omni-blades flashed out, illuminating their hidey-hole with a faint orange glow that accentuated the hard expression on his face. “Let them come to us. I can’t attack and hold the barrier.”

“Drop it, then,” he growled. “Don’t need it.”

“They have _guns_ , Mark!” She drew a knife from her sleeve. Bullets ricocheted off the barrier, accentuating her point. It held, but the heat in her skull increased as she hardened it.

He cast a singularity at the trio of men firing on them, catching them and making their guns clatter to the pavement. “Not anymore. Eat it, _bitch_!” He warped the gravity well, the detonation sending the trio to the ground. She put her back to him when he turned to face the enemy approaching on the other side of the dumpster. His biotics flared again, flickering green and crawling over her skin. She turned to look fully at him, but he was wreathed in blue and the strange sensation had faded. _Weird._

One of the guys he dropped scrambled forward, coming into Red’s limited radius. This was worse than being leashed on Elysium. She lunged forward, keeping the heel of her boot against Mark’s to maintain the barrier around him, and stabbed the thug with her omni-blade.

Another shot rained down from above, slamming into the dark energy field around them. Her barrier flickered again, but held. She clenched her jaw, trying to ignore the increasing heat from her overtaxed amp. Mark twisted to the left, pulling the sniper off the balcony. “Another one, eleven o’clock,” she warned. A singularity followed, capturing the second. She scanned the balconies, but found no more movement. The remainder were on foot. Fortunately, they were still the only group around. The fight had probably run the others off. Gunfire wasn’t conducive to an ambush.

“You’re free,” Mark said. “Go!”

Red darted forward and scooped up one of the dropped pistols. Movement from the corner of her eye had her turning to face Mark, but before she could fire, he’d tackled the thug to the ground, burying his omni-blade into his belly and twisting. “Fuckin’ run!” he shouted, looking up at her. “Get the cops!”

She fired on another thug and rolled her eyes. _Oh, my sweet summer child.[1]_ “Cops don’t come into places like this!” 

“Figures,” he muttered, catching the pistol she tossed at him.

Now that she wasn’t trying to cover both of them with her barrier, she could use her biotics. She threw a target to her four into the wall. He crumpled and she turned and charged another. When he was down, she covered Mark so he could move to another vantage point to keep up with the shifting battlefield, and then charged a large male barreling down the alley. He flew back from her and she shot him before turning to another back on the main avenue.

Mark’s biotics lit the street, enveloping him in crackling lightning that flashed over the filthy walls, a one-man thunderstorm. She blinked in and out, enjoying the cold rush of adrenaline that hummed in her veins. It got quiet when she was charging around the field, her focus fully attuned on the situation at hand, taking in the changing landscape even as she moved. Mark anticipated her, warping targets for her charge between handling his own. The rapid-fire detonations rattled grime-covered windows and snapped the ragged sheets hanging the over balconies above.

She turned to identify her next target only to find that everyone was either down or had run. One clutched his side, moaning loudly. She coldly walked over and shot him in the head. _Done. We made it. Holy shit, we’re good._ “And _that_ , babycakes, is how we do it!” she exclaimed, grinning up at him. He released a heavy breath through his pursed lips, bending over and planting the heels of his hands above his knees.

“Fuck...we need to go.” He looked around, his eyes slightly wide and his jaw clenched.

“We’re fine now,” she said. “Rear guard’s still back at the end of the street, but they won’t come up unless they’re called in. Their job’s just to keep the bottleneck closed. _If_ they’re even still there…” She shook her head and clipped her pistol to her hip. “I can’t believe we walked into that.” She _knew_ better. She’d forgotten he wasn’t a city-dweller like her and had dropped her guard. Or it had simply been too long. _Going soft in your old age, Red?_

“Huh. What now?” he asked, sheathing his omni-blade.

She tucked her knife back into her sleeve and said, “We cut through the apartments at the end of the street. Half of these are abandoned. No one’s claimed the territory yet. Squatters are all we’ll find at the moment. Unless you want another fight. I’m down if you are, but my amp’s hot.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Naw. Better not attempt it with no shields.”

She nodded and led him down the street to a darkened unit. They crouched down and she peeked up to check in the windows. It was empty but for abandoned furniture. She gestured to the door. “Wanna do the honors?”

He kicked the door open and moved to the side. “Clear it?”

She drew her pistol again, though she was almost certain the unit was empty. “You know it.” He followed her through the apartment, checking each room in turn. When they reached the final empty bedroom, she said, “Clear.” She holstered the pistol, feeling the rush from the battle finally hit her. “Damn, that felt good!” she laughed, stepping into the tiny bathroom to wash the blood off of her hands. Mark did the same, wiping them dry on his hoodie before going back into the bedroom. “That was _amazing!_ I didn’t know if I could do that, charging with you. I mean, I hoped I could, but...holy shit. That was awesome!” She grinned, throwing her head back and spinning around in a circle.

“Yeah, that was...somethin’, all right. Had no idea that was even fuckin’ _possible_ ,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she asked. “I carry my armor and weapons. But, oh, my gods, the _rush_ when you flared with me. I’ve never had a charge that strong. It felt...good.”

He gave her a half grin. “Yeah, it can do that sometimes…”

She laughed again, biting her lip and grinning at him before jumping into his arms. “It was fan-fucking- _tas_ tic!”

He staggered backward, hitting the wall with a thunk. “ _Quite_ the rush…”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and sighed. “Yeah.” Her chest heaved and her heart pounded with the aftereffects of the adrenaline rush. She’d be willing to bet that her eyes were dilated like she’d just snorted a line of sand. _Damn, he’s gorgeous. And he let me charge with him. And he let me control the field._ That _was fucking hot._ Adrenaline flashed over to lust and her heart kicked again.

He shifted her weight up a little, letting her wrap her legs around his waist, and smirked. “Can I help you with something?  Why're you lookin' at me like that?”

She wanted him. He knew it. He wasn’t objecting. _Fuck it._ She leaned in and kissed him, still smiling. He pulled back, blinking at her. “Problem?” she whispered.

“Not if you don’t have one,” he replied evenly.

“ _Hells_ no,” she said.

He pulled her tight against him and kissed her hard, lips and teeth clashing together. She gripped his muscular shoulders, tightening her legs around his trim waist. She wanted him. _Now._ No fucking fairy tales. No happy ever after. Just her hands under his hoodie, pushing it from his shoulders, and the two of them tumbling down onto the dusty mattress. _This_ , this was simple. This was something she understood.

“ _Unf_ ,” he grunted, but grabbed her hips and ground against her, arching into her. She briefly considered pinning his hands above his head, but discarded the idea. Too much chance of it going wrong. Instead, she jerked her jacket off, removing the condom she always carried from her pocket. His hands tucked down the back of her jeans, digging long, calloused fingers into the dense muscle. She rolled against him, her hands sliding up his torso, dragging his shirt up with them to reveal his toned chest. His hips caught her rhythm the way he did when paddling in the zodiac, and his fingers trembled as he undid the button on her pants.

Her boots fell to the floor with a muffled thunk before she shifted between his legs to drag her pants down; the need to have him inside her right this goddamn minute too strong to resist. He groaned in the back of his throat, running a hand up her ribs and under her breast, giving it a light squeeze before sliding his hand down between her legs to circle her nub with his thumb, sending sparks racing under her skin.  

“Got somethin’ to wrap it?” he asked in a tight voice as she straddled him again. She picked up the fallen condom from the mattress and he smirked, plucking it from her fingers. “My hero.”

Breathing heavily, she grinned down at him. “Saving your ass from becoming a statistic of gang violence wasn't enough?” she teased.

“Naw.  Can take care of myself.  Been jumped before…” He pulled her forward, his lips trailing heat from her neck down to her collarbone. His hands fumbled with his own pants for a moment  “ _Fuck_ in'...”

She brought her hands down and brushed his aside. “Trouble?” She flipped open the button of his pants and drew the zipper down, running her hand along his thick shaft as she did. Her imagination hadn’t done him justice. “Holy _shit_ , Mark. Good thing I've got my heavy weapons qualification.”

His hands moved back to her ass, fingers digging in as he huffed a laugh. “'M proportionate.  Nothin' more.”

“Looks just right to me,” she said, tugging his hand around and pressing it against her center. She wrapped her other hand around him and stroked his length, her fingers playing over his smooth, hot skin. He complied, running his thumb along her, spreading the dampness he found around her nub. Her head fell back as she rocked against his hand. “Ohhhh…” He swirled his thumb over her again before pausing to open the condom wrapper and slide it on. She watched him closely, groaning, “ _Mark_. Fuuuuck.”

He settled his erection against her and slipped his hands up her shirt, pushing her bra up to run his thumbs over her nipples. She glided herself along his length, reaching up to undo her bra and toss it aside. He groaned again, pulling her forward and kissing her breast, his tongue flicking along her nipple. Need flared in her belly, urgency spurring her on. It had been months and he felt far too good. She wrapped an arm around his neck, scraping her teeth across the shell of his ear, and positioned him at her entrance. “ _Gods_ , Mark, fuck me.”

He nipped lightly on her skin and guided her hips as he entered her, thrusting up smoothly. “ _Scheisse...ohhh, mein Gott..._ ”[2]

_Fucking hell_. He felt goddamn amazing, filling and stretching her, feeding her hunger. She arched against him, lightly raking her short nails over his shoulders, and kissed him hard. She’d made it a rule in another life never to kiss the people she’d fucked. Now that she was out of it, the action served as a reminder that this was _her_ choice because she wanted it, not to put food on the table or a roof over her head. And damned if he didn’t make it an enjoyable one. He dug his fingers in her hips and moved them with his, quickening his pace and moaning against her lips. She took his lower lip between her teeth, sucking gently as she rode him, matching his motion.

He moved a hand off her hip and cupped his balls against her ass, grinding hard against her. “Holy _fuck_ , that's hot,” she groaned, rolling her hips and angling her ass into his hand. It wasn’t often that a partner would unapologetically take their pleasure with her. His confidence was sexy as hell. Kaidan had been damn good and sure of what he wanted, but he’d turned it into more than two people sharing a simple pleasure. Mark didn’t try to pretend it was anything else.

He bit his lower lip, matching her motion, and moved his other hand to her front, his thumb circling her nub again. She groaned, her head falling back again. Amusement laced his voice as he whispered, “If you say so.” She took him deeper, and he met her intensity stroke for stroke. “Don't wait for me,” he panted, his heated gaze roving over her. “Just...just go whenever.”

“Angle,” she gasped. “Fuck. I need…” She pushed him back, bracing her hands behind her on his thighs so that she could move freely as she rode him. “Gods, _yes_. Right there, Mark...just like _that_.” She shouted his name as she tightened around him. Her barrier flared out, flickering over her skin, washing over his hands and hips.

His abs tightened as she came, damping his biotics as soon as they flared in response to hers. “Fuckin' hell.... _ohhhh_ …” He buried himself as deep as he could go, still cupping his balls against her, and sending another shockwave through her.

She collapsed forward, breathing heavily, and braced her hands on either side of him, with her forehead barely touching his chest. Searing heat shot across the back of her skull, her barrier abruptly flickering out as her amp fried, driving away the last of the afterglow in a rush of pain. “Oh, _shit_.  Get it out! My amp -- get it out! _Fuck!_ ”

He scrambled to pop her amp, still panting. “Ah, _fuck_...got it.”

“Aghhhhhh,” she groaned.

“I _got_ it, chillax,” he said.

“ _You_ chillax with an amp blistering your scalp,” she snapped, gently probing her implant site. “Ugh. Thanks.”

“You definitely need to get the integrity of it checked, now,” he said, turning in in his fingers and inspecting it. “That fucker's toast.”

She rolled off of him, taking the amp from him. “Yeah. Wish I'd thought of that this morning.” He exhaled heavily in response, tipping his head back. “I'm going to have to replace it. There's no fixing that.” She draped an arm over her eyes, trying to catch her breath.

“I might have a spare, but it's not clocked vanguard,” he offered.

“With you?” she asked. That was a good idea. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?

“Yuh.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small carrying case. “Just in case.  I don't want the port open for anything, y'know?”

“Thanks. I feel naked without it. It'll at least get me a barrier and basic attacks. You mind?” She rolled over and moved her hair out of the way. “How bad's my scalp?”

He gave a small, blissed out sigh and brushed a few escaped strands of her hair aside. “First degree.  You're gonna be sore tomorrow. I have burn cream back at the barracks...you smell like burnt hair.”

“Ugh. I was afraid that's what that smell meant,” she groaned.

He popped it home as gently as possible and ran his thumb over it to make sure it was seated. “Sorry if that hurt.”

The sound she made was somewhere between a grimace and a moan. “It's, ah, a little tender.” She stretched her jaw. “Nothing I can't handle.” She’d had worse after Elysium. Experimentally, she let her barrier flare and fall. “Works for me.”

“Just be careful. It's not specced for you. You can overload it if you charge. And it's my only spare currently.”

“I'll keep it to universal attacks,” she assured him. “And I'll get it back to you as soon as we get back. I've got an old one in the barracks.”

He pulled his pants up, redoing the button and rolling his neck to loosen it. “Sounds like a plan.”

She snickered. “We're already planning to get jumped again. Gotta love it.”

“I hope not. Haven't been in a street fight since I was 16. I'm rusty.”

She used her underwear to clean up, tucking it in the interior pocket of her jacket before dressing quickly. She’d put money on his idea of a street fight and hers being very different. “Yeah. Been awhile for me, too.”

He kept his back to her as he inspected the walls, walking a few steps away from the bed. “Glad you were there with me, though. Probably would have gotten fucked up pretty bad without you on my six.”

She tugged on her boots. “We make a good team. And they were disorganized. I'd have…” She stopped and cleared her throat. _Careless, Red._

“...killed them?” he asked. “I think we kinda did. I'll be honest, I'm not really sure what to do next.”

_That works_. “Yep. Well, we can either go out this way or back the way they came. The rear guard's probably given up by now.”

“Heh.  Probably not expecting their targets to stop and fuck after a fight.”

She laughed. “Yeah. I doubt that’s ever happened before.” Her hand brushed over the stolen pistol as she straightened her jacket. Tucking it into her pants had been a habitual motion, but she’d forgotten it was there. “Oh. Shit.” Probably not a good idea to carry it back on base. She tugged it out of her waistband, looking for a place to ditch it. Nothing she could do about any DNA on it, but the odds of it ever getting into the police’s hands were between slim and none.

“What?” he asked, tensing. His hand glowed blue as he collected biotic energy in it. “Hear somethin'?”

She shook her head. “No. Nothing. Just need to ditch the gun.”

He exhaled in a rush. “Fuckin'-a...don't scare me like that.” His eyes cut to her. “You good to move?”

She located a loose board in the floor and pried it up, stuffing the pistol beneath and re-centering it. “Yep. I've had enough of the 'hood.” That was her old life. She wasn’t going back to it. She didn’t _want_ to go back to it.

“I think it's in our best interests to never talk about this.  Ever,” he said soberly.

She raised a brow. “You honestly think I'm talking about this to anyone?”

“Just making sure.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I'd rather not get iced for murderin’ a gang.”

Iced? _Was I ever that innocent?_ She snorted and then burst into full-blown laughter. He gave her a flat look. “Ohhhh, babycakes. You are sooo... _normal._ ” Her laughter faded. She was the strange one here. She should have been just as clueless as he.

“Fuck you, too. Get a move on.”

She shrugged into her jacket. Of course, he’d taken it the wrong way. Most people would. “Hey, I didn't mean it like that. I just...it's very clear we had very different upbringings. I didn't mean to insult you.”

He pursed his lips and crouched, sneaking out onto the street. “Clear,” he whispered.

She shook her head, grabbing his sleeve. "You're making yourself more of a target. Walk like you own the street. They won't fuck with us now. We're sober."

“Aight. I'll defer to your judgement,” he said, looming behind her and putting a swagger in his stride.

She smirked. Fuck, he was cute when he was out of his element. “Probably wise, country boy.” She walked out in front of him, her stride confident, shoulders back, eyes roving the street.

“I feel like I'm your enforcer.”

“You’re certainly big enough.” Alex hadn’t had anything on him.

He smirked _._ “You say the nicest things…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Oh, my sweet summer child... ~George R R Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire  
> [2] German. 'Shit...oh, my god...'


	11. Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'm the baddest mother up in here,  
>  I'm about to make it clear.  
> It's going down like I told you.  
> I'm the baddest mother up in here...  
> What you gonna do?  
> I'm gonna rock you...  
> I'll have you beggin' for mercy, beggin' for mercy, oh.  
> I'm dangerous..."_ ~[Dangerous - Royal Deluxe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2ZRoWQ0grU)

**_Unbreakable_** , by Kate_Shepard and potionsmaster

 

Rating: E for sex, drugs, rock n’ roll, and country.  Otherwise known as ‘Violence out the wazoo’ and actual country.  (Country needs a warning label.)  Heed the warnings and tags, kiddies.  It ain’t pretty.

 

 **Chapter 11:** _Dangerous_

 

~*~*~*~

 

They turned back out onto the main thoroughfare, but her posture didn’t change.  Mark’s head was spinning. “Debrief?” Kate asked. “Before we get back on base where there are cameras.”

“Sure...get our story straight.”

“Yup,” she agreed, glancing back over her shoulder at him. She pointed out an empty corner cafe with tables and chairs outside. “Take a seat.”

“Don't I outrank _you?_ ” he asked, biting back a smirk and taking a seat anyway.  That amused him a bit. Her swagger in the street was definitely not something she showcased on base and judging by how she read the street, he’d be willing to guess there were bits and pieces of her past lying back there with the dead gang members and shattered pavement.   _Most_ intriguing.

“Not today.” She flipped a chair around and straddled it, facing him. He quirked an eyebrow at her.   _Seriously?  You gonna take me to street school or somethin’?_  “You ok? That clearly wasn't your area of expertise, but you handled it well.”

Ah.  The ‘rookie talk’.  As long as she didn’t talk down to him, he’d play nice.  He half wondered if she had caught his slip-up while they were in the middle of the fight, but he was fairly certain he damped it down before she noticed.  She certainly didn't act like anything was amiss at the time. Kate had been all business then, giving clear direction and owning the field. It didn’t exactly surprise him how much she’d taken charge in the bedroom in the apartments, either; he’d been content enough to watch her do as she wanted with him for the most part.  

“Yeah...just tryin’ to wrap my head around it.   I mean, none of my fights ever quite went like _that_ …” he replied, playing along for the moment.  

Her grin was almost wistful. “Nothing wrong with that. I'd say that's probably true for most people.”  Which meant it wasn’t for her. _Keep talkin’, little girl.  Tell me all about it._

“On the streets, anyway,” he said, chewing his lower lip and looking over his shoulder.  Plenty of fights in the field that wound up similarly to tonight.

“We're good here. Out of their territory,” she assured him. That was... _sweet_ of her, he supposed, trying to allay perceived fears, but it was misplaced.  He was agitated, sure, but not paranoid. Well...not about what _she_ thought he was paranoid about, anyway. It annoyed him without fail, anytime another biotic had theirs active and touched him, his rose to meet theirs automatically.  There was little he could do about it, though, so he just dealt with it. His biotics flaring along with hers when she found her happy worried him enough to make him shut it down, mental bulkhead clanging shut and locking it down in his mind.  Just like Ta’Leah back at home had taught him to visualize after he’d gotten his amp installed.

“Yeah, I'm good, just...still have a little energy left to bleed out, that's all.”

“We can work that out back on base, if you want,” she said. “Nerves?” She seemed almost concerned. _I’m touched._

He focused back on her. “In what manner?  Not nerves, just adrenaline.”

She shrugged. “Spar, run, go to the range?” He exhaled slowly, gazing at her for a moment before he answered; he could guess what other suggestion was on her mind readily enough.  Her pupils were still large, lips flushed.

He chuckled. “All possible. Or hitting the racks.  Might take a longer shower than usual, though.” Bait laid.

“Ahh,” she said with a wicked leer. “I'm a ‘hit it and quit it’ type, but the night's still young.  I wouldn't be opposed to round two.”

Bait taken.

“Don't 'ahhh' me.  You sound like a fuckin' vorcha.”

“Aaand just like that, the magic's gone,” she snickered. “Because I was doing such a good job at subtle before.”

He rolled his lips in a moment, considering. “You serious?”

Actually falling into bed with her hadn’t been part of the plan.  And he hadn’t bothered to think about it happening again, because it still really wasn’t.   _Best laid plans, though…_ Clearly his initial idea of not mixing with her that way got shoved aside easily enough.  Maybe he could ignore his personal rule, just for tonight. Not like he didn't already fuck it up. Literally.

“Sure. Why not? If I hadn't been so tender, I probably would have jumped you again when you popped that amp in. Would have felt fucking amazing if not for the burns.”

 _Well, alright, then._  He gave an incredulous scoff. “Not quite what I was expecting...huh. Is this somethin’ you're going to expect on a regular basis? I don't mess with squaddies if I can help it. Don't want the drama.”  

“Hell no. Like I said. Hit it and quit it. You've got me till reveille. One time offer. I don't do... _relationships,_ ” she said with a curl of her lip.  Mark snorted to himself; yet again another thing they had in common.  Him and relationships just didn’t mix; he had a couple of ex-girlfriends who could attest to that.  And the closest one he could call a boyfriend if he squinted sideways at it didn’t live long enough to find out.  He hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of trying again since.

His responding smile didn’t reach his eyes this time. “Me either. Waste of energy.” He checked his omni-tool: 2308. “Looks like there's some moonlight to burn. Where you wanna go?”

She considered for a moment and then said, “Barracks. That way when we're done, we can crawl off into our respective beds and sleep. We're off duty tonight, so it's not fraternization.”

“Very true.”

 _Ever practical._  She continued, “Before we do, though, anything you want to go over? I mean, that was not our normal situation.”

“Go over what?” he asked with a blank expression. “Did somethin’ happen tonight?  I was drinkin' with my battle buddy.”  She snickered.  _See?  Not as wet behind the ears as you think, little girl_.

“Exactly. Took a couple laps around the city.”

“Too broke for cab fare. Did the tourist thing.”

“Rio's so pretty in the fall.”

“Looked at the stars.”

“Get out to the beach and it's almost visible.”

They rose and shoved their chairs in. He continued, “Breathed in the nice, smoggy night air. Set the atmosphere. Real romantic-like.”

She looked around. “This isn't how they do romance in other parts of the galaxy? I swear I saw this exact situation in a vid.”

“No idea.  Never really one for vids,” he said, leading them down the street.

“Mighta been snuff porn,” she joked.

He nodded, playing the straight man.. “That must've been it, yeah. Same set.”

“Fornax uses the same set for all their shit, though,” she said.

“Fuckin' annoying, right?”

“I don't really watch it for the background aesthetics, Shepard,” she said.

“They _do_ change the lighting for the hanar ones, though.”

“Well, yeah. Sucks when the actors dry out.”

He grinned. “You watch it for the articles. I get it.”

“Nope. I'm woman enough to admit I watch it for the vicarious sex.”

“Dryin’ out's not so much an issue as the bioluminescence.  Fucks with the light meter on the camera.” He didn’t know much about photography, but in the general intro class he’d had to take for his degree, that little tidbit had stuck in his head.

“Huh. Learn something new every day.”

Once again, they had fallen into amicable banter off base and he was a little startled to find he was enjoying himself, despite the earlier excursion. It was... _fun_. Ahead, the lights of the guard shack lit up the night.

“That's neither here nor there, though,” he said, glancing down at her.  She had paused, good humor fading a bit while she worked something over in her head. A thin line had formed between her eyebrows and she looked in the direction of the guard shack, but didn’t seem to be seeing it.

“Oh, before we go in…”

“Mm?”

They stopped completely, gate and guardhouse still some yards away.  Kate put her hands in her pockets, rocking back onto a heel. “I'm going to ask you something, and I want a straight answer because I'm your battle and if there's something going on with you that could affect the mission or my performance, I need to be aware of it.”

 _Fuck me sideways, here we go_.  He’d hoped she hadn’t picked up on his little _shift_ in the fight earlier.  It had been a brief thought to practice it, but thought better of it immediately; no sense tempting fate.  He was under no illusions; if he slipped up, there wouldn’t be a next time. He tapped a cigarette out of the pack and offered it to her, his gaze steady on her.  “Shoot.”

She took it and lit up before saying, “Is there a reason your biotics turned green for a minute there?”

 _Double. Fuck_.  He took a drag from the cigarette and asked matter-of-factly, “What makes you think they did?”

She raised a brow, flicking the butt of the cigarette with her thumbnail. “I saw it. And I felt...I don't know how to describe it. A disturbance in your biotic field. It...shifted. It felt like you began to run a mnemonic and aborted, but no attack I've ever felt before.”

 _That’s because I did._ His heart sank; he was still learning its capabilities, and as such, his own limitations on it, and she was going to pay the price for it.  He didn’t have many he qualified as friends, he didn’t need them, but she fit the bill. And once again, those closest to him in any capacity were going to pay for being there in blood.  

Mirala had been right; even the few times he’d done it for the demonstration for Hackett and Kahoku, it had been easier and easier to call it up.  Apparently just a momentary thought was enough to flip it now. And if he wasn’t able to navigate her through her line of questioning, he wasn’t sure what would become of either of them.   _Some N soldier_ I _am...compromised and not even out of trainin’.  Motherfucker._  “Could've been my singularity. Sure it wasn't just a trick of the light? Adrenaline messing with you from battle?” he asked.   _Agree.  Just agree and drop it, little girl._

She snorted, but her tone was even. “Come on, Mark. That was just a street fight. And a singularity is blue, like every other biotic attack I’ve ever seen, not green. I know the difference. It's nighttime. No trick of the light. Please don't insult my intelligence.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek, flicking ash at her.  Of course she wouldn’t take the easy option; she was too fuckin’ tenacious.  “Not tryin’ to. Tryin’ to give you an out.” There. _Please, Kate. Take the hint.  Stop. Now._  Mirala’s sultry voice echoed in his memory, laughing at him.  

Her eyebrows drew together. “An _out?_  Really? I don't think so, mShep. Something is wrong with your biotics, whether you want to admit it or not. Either you don’t know what it is, and we take it to HQ so that the docs can figure it out. Or you _do_ know, and you and I discuss it here between us and it goes no further, _battle_ _._ How do you want to play it?”

He shook his head, careful to keep his face blank; he couldn’t just tell her it was ‘classified’ because that acknowledged something was there to classify and he wasn’t even allowed to do _that_ much. Humans were already wary of biotics due to the fear of mind control. Until now, that fear had been unfounded. If it became public knowledge that it _was_ possible, there would be riots in the streets. It wasn’t just _his_ ass on the line, all biotics would be at risk even though they didn’t have the ability; guilty by association.  

Even worse, if word got back to the Asari Republic that he’d learned one of their secrets, it could jeopardize relations between the two species and humanity’s standing among the Council races.  Humanity’s front on the galactic stage would be ruined. Hackett didn’t want this knowledge to see the light of day. The life of one too-curious soldier, hero or not, wouldn’t mean shit against the risk of exposure.  

Denial worked well in theory, but only if she’d let it go and he already knew she wouldn’t.   _Show dog had a bone to dig up.  Woof, woof, bitch._ She’d worded it casually enough, but the threat was there. If he didn’t find a way to satisfy her, she’d take it to the brass. He’d have to stop her before she did. ‘Deny, deny, deny’ it was.  His voice was quiet and detached.

“The docs’ll tell you I have a regulation prototype L3 amp, standard issue. I’d pass all my med checks. Like I did to get here.  And have continued to do.” _And you'd be buried in a hole somewhere._

She shook her head. “I wrote the L4 software when I was a teenager. I sold the rights to the new prototype to the Alliance last year. I know amps. There’s no prototype that turns biotics _green_. Whatever it may be, it’s not your amp. And if you already know what the doctors will say, then you’ve got a cover story. A shitty one, but one that would fly with most people. So why don’t we cut through the bullshit and get down to what’s really going on here?”

She wasn’t going to let it go. Maybe a hint. Just enough to back her off without giving anything she could repeat and incriminate either of them. “Step off, femShep,” he said slowly.  “Tryin' to protect you.”

She took a drag off the cigarette and shifted to a more casual stance. “All right, mShep. I'm assuming then that whatever it is, it's classified beyond my paygrade. There are still things I need to know if I'm going into the field with you. So, how about I ask you a question and you either answer or tell me it's classified? This conversation goes no further. And if I decide not to remain your battle buddy because of it, I’ll find another reason to get moved. Deal?”

He nodded assent.   _Be smart, little girl._

She asked, “If I get caught in the crossfire, what kind of damage are we looking at? Worst case?”

He exhaled slowly, smoke drifting out his nostrils. “Neural overload, synaptic interruption.  Cerebral hemorrhaging.”

She winced. “Can you interrupt it?”

“Huh-uh.”

She pursed her lips and breathed out. “Okay. So, fucked. Big time. Got it. Once it leaves your hand, it's out of your control?”

“It's on a trajectory.  If you cross the path, you get it, full bore.  I suggest you not do that.”

“I'm a vanguard,” she pointed out. “There's no guarantee.” She took another drag of the cigarette, pulling the smoke deep into her lungs.

“Then I suggest you think long and hard if you want to be reassigned to a different battle buddy.”

She looked directly at him. “If I get caught in it, will you shoot me?”

“I won't need to.”

“Instant kill?”

He flicked ash at her again. “Huh-uh.”

“Then shoot me.”

 _That’s rather fatalistic, little girl._ He cocked his head to the side. “Now why would I want to do that?”

“If I can't get out of it, and I can't survive it, put me down. Agree to that and I won't request to be reassigned. You're not exactly safe, but then neither am I.”

“I never said you wouldn't _survive_ _._ Just that it would hurt like a motherfucker.” His tongue played over the point of his canine, thinking.  They were playing with fire.

“Cerebral hemorrhaging? You don't come back from that.”

He laughed. “You asked for worst case, I gave it.”

“So in the worst case, you agree to put me down and we'll be good. If I can survive without permanent damage, I'll fucking get through...whatever the hell it is. Stop being obtuse.”

“I'll stop being obtuse when you stop questioning things you should walk away from.  And _if_ _,_ in the highly unlikely scenario you're caught on the wires, I'll take care of you.”

“Thank you. That's all I wanted to know. Risk assessment. Surely, you can understand and appreciate that.”

“That I do.”

_Drop it._

Her eyes narrowed. “Wait. You said 'Take care of.' That could mean a lot of things. You'll take me out. Say it.”

He leaned forward and tapped her forehead. “X marks the spot, baby.  I'll put you in the _ground_ _._ ”

“Better.” She crushed the cigarette butt under her heel. Her brow furrowed and she chewed on the inside of her lip. “And, Mark?”

“Mm?”

“I was high as a kite during the Skyllian Blitz. Dr. Karin Chakwas can confirm.” She turned and started walking toward the gate.

He stubbed his own cigarette out and started after her. “ _Hold_ up.  What's that, some kind of fuckin' insurance policy or something that you'll keep this quiet?”  That was dumb of her; she didn't need to admit anything to him. If she was in danger of letting his little secret slip, his orders were clear.  No witnesses. And he’d pass her up the line to be dealt with appropriately. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that.

“Give the man a cookie.”

He supposed he could forgive the bit of sass, considering she basically agreed to keep her mouth shut so she didn’t disappear.  That little tidbit she just shared would utterly destroy her career if it got out. Her sparkly collar was looking more and more like a sham, but who was pulling the wool over whose eyes was the question.  He didn’t want to know on any of it.

“Huh.” He studied her for a long moment. “I think you overpaid. You don't owe me shit. Just your discretion.” She kept walking and he jogged to catch up. “So...watch a lot of hanar porn, do you?”

“Let me guess. You like Blasto, too?” she asked.

His ears flushed at the tips _._ “They're good movies for mindless background noise.”

She smirked and shook her head. “I don't know if we can be friends, mShep. I can deal with a lot of shit, but Blasto?”

“Who doesn't like 'Enkindle This' as a catch phrase?” he asked. “Or, 'This one is tired of your solid waste excretions'...”

She groaned and ran a hand down her face. “‘This one has forgotten whether its heat sink is over capacity. It wonders whether the criminal scum considers itself fortunate.’”

“Hahahaaaa, I _knew_ it!” He excitedly smacked the wall beside him.

“Shut up,” she grumbled. “It's like watching two shuttles collide. You don't want to see it, but you just can't look away… Oh! Do you have Blasto PJs? I bet you have Blasto PJs.”

“Naw.  Nothin' but boring stuff.”

“I'm getting you Blasto PJs for Christmas. Because that's what good battle buddies do. And if you take over latrine duty for the week, I won't give them to you in front of the entire class.”

“Nope, no dice. I got no shame.”

“Everyone should have shame about Blasto.”

“Ha, ok, whatever. And I'll get you a year's subscription to the hanar specific Fornax online club.”

“Don't waste your money. Already got it,” she bantered.

He raised his eyebrows. “Really.”

“You don't know my roommate from biotics school. Fuckin’ Essex.” She shook her head. “He's a little crazy. Now, the _quarian_ specific Fornax online club? That one's all me, babycakes.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

It didn’t escape his notice that this was the second time in as many days they wound up in the shower together, but this time they were decidedly more awake and the view was infinitely better.  She stood facing him, head tipped back and water running down her body, making her hair cascade in liquid flames down her colorful, inked skin to her shoulders, fascinating him with its motion.

“Like what you see, big guy?” she smirked at him, fingers running over her scalp and moving her hair to one side with a soft, wet slap.  It went well with a truly beautiful tattoo of a phoenix done in a watercolor style. He gave her a half grin, leaning over her and bracing himself on the wall with his forearm; it was really too small in there just on his lonesome, but he supposed that wasn’t really a detriment in this scenario.

“Might do,” he teased gently.  She lightly cupped his ribs, exploring the ridges of bone and muscle that were more pronounced than usual, thanks to Hell Week.  Her fingers slid up his skin, making his abs tighten in an effort not to clamp his arms down. No way in _hell_ was he going to let her know he was ticklish there.  Kate glanced up heatedly at him, impish smirk in place.  He met her eyes with an even gaze, not giving the game away.  Her hand brushed up over his shoulder, sweeping over the scar, and her brow furrowed, focusing on it.

“What happened?”  She drew the pad of her thumb over the slightly raised, bumpy ridge under the thin, long scar tracing his clavicle.  

“Broke.  Snapped it clean in two, lost an inch of width.  Couldn’t get back to an Alliance hospital ‘in a timely manner’, so local it was.  And they weren’t as high-techy-tech as Alliance would have been. So old school hardware it was.  And I don’t care to go back under the knife to get it removed.”

“Sounds painful,” she said, tracing the point where the metal stopped and the bone continued underneath. “Does it still hurt?”

“Log PT doesn't do me any favors, but for the most part, no,” he said, watching her face.  Her bottom lip was between her teeth, studying the scar with an intense focus. “They had to cut a nerve when they opened me up.  It's numb to surface touch. Can feel the metal on the underside of my skin, though. Bizarre if I think about it too much. And if something hits the metal, feels like blood rushin' on the underside.  Hot, kinda painful, annoyin'.”

She nodded and turned slightly, rotating her shoulder to make her shoulder blade stand out and guided his hand to a point where one of the wings of the splatter-painted phoenix on her back swept up before going down her arm. A trio of slightly raised, hard lumps were hidden under the tattoo. It half-registered in his thoughts that if he had the same thing, he’d appreciate the fact it was a triad of scars, not a single or couple.  Stupid thing he had from a kid; ‘three’ was a favorite number and he just...felt better when things were in threes. Even more pleasing was it was in a rough triangle. _Concentrate_.

“Elysium,” she said casually, answering the unasked question. “Didn’t have anybody left on my six. I was so exhausted, I didn’t even realize I’d been hit till later. Fourteen hours from the first alert until the Alliance arrived. I was dead on my feet, almost literally. There were...I don’t even know how many. It’s all a blur. No stims. No real food. And no sign of help coming any time soon. So I...used the tools at my disposal.”

 _Dusted up, in other words._  No judgement from him; he’d probably have done the same thing to get a boost in that scenario.  Maybe she’d found a stash on another soldier while she was trying to replenish herself.

“We do what we must in order to survive,” he said quietly. He knew all about that; his last mission had not gone the way he wanted when all was said and done, but he’d improvised and did what he had to.   _Mach es fertig.  Ja, Vati.[1]_  He refused to feel bad about what he’d done, though.  Lineah’s frightened eyes flashed in his head, Mirala’s slow smile twisting around into laughter at him again.   _‘Oh, Shepard…’_ she whispered, smoke and amusement mingling in her sensuous voice.   _‘If only you’d let go.  Then we could_ really _have some fun.  Just you and I...’_

“Yeah, we do,” she agreed, something flitting behind her eyes before she leaned in and brushed her lips over his chest, her tongue flicking delicately over his nipple and immediately shutting down any other thoughts besides her mouth on him.   She wrapped her arms around his neck and he allowed her to draw him down so that she could trail hot kisses up his neck. He tipped his head to the side, but she paused, drawing back slightly and rubbing her thumb under his jaw. “You’ve got a spot of blood there. Should probably actually get clean before getting started with this.”

He let out an amused snort. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine? Or, in this case, wash?”

“Works for me,” she said, turning around and sliding a hand under her hair to draw it over her shoulder.

He took the bottle of her soap from the shelf in the corner and poured some over his hands, running them over the decorated skin of her back. His thumbs paused over a tight spot in her shoulders, firmly circling to work the tension loose. Didn’t surprise him that she was still knotted up; he had a few left himself from the days of relentless motion and no opportunity to relax. It’d take both of them awhile to completely recover. She groaned, leaning against the wall with a sigh.

He chuckled and pressed harder, feeling the muscles loosen under his hands.  Kate being pliable in his hands had some possibilities, in more ways than one.  He was acutely aware of the _zing_ of her biotics smoothing out under his attentions, as well, or maybe he was just getting used to the rhythmic stutter they had.  They weren’t a constant steady thrum against his like a few other biotics he’d met. It almost felt like her biotics were holding their breath to see what would happen next before letting go again.  He vaguely wondered what his felt like to her.

When he’d gotten as many knots as he could find, he lathered his hands in shampoo and began working through her hair; just seemed like the natural progression of things and besides, he could get a better look at her amp port.  She tensed for a heartbeat before relaxing and tipping her head back into his fingers. “ _Gods_ , that feels good. Don’t think anybody’s ever done that before.”

“Washed your hair?” he asked, massaging the soap into her scalp, making sure to be careful around her port. He made a mental note to remember the burn cream later. It wasn’t too bad, just a little pink with no blisters or redness, but it looked tender all the same.

“Mmhm. I don’t really let people touch my head. Don’t mind it with you, though, especially since it feels fucking amazing.” She sighed again, her back arching gracefully. Her ass slid along his thighs, pressing his groin against her lower back. The height difference didn’t work in their favor in this situation. He adjusted himself down a little to fit against her, using her motion to put a suggestion between them. She rocked back against him with a soft moan.

“...’m honored, then,” he murmured, amused.  “Don’t particularly enjoy havin’ my head manhandled myself.”  She was like a cat under his hands, arching into him.

“You cut my hair,” she said simply, leaning back to look at him.

“You let me,” he pointed out, running his hands down her slippery skin and cupping her breasts.  It also had the added benefit of pressing her back against him.

She gasped quietly, letting her head fall back against his chest. Her hands came back to rest on his hips, fingers playing along the edge of his ass.   _Fuck_ , they needed to get out of the shower soon.  He still needed to scrub down, though. Her hands slid further back, cupping his ass and pulling him closer, rolling herself along his hardening length.   _Heilige verdammte Scheisse…[2]_ they _really_ needed to get out of the shower.  He shuddered as he ran his thumbs lightly over her nipples and slid himself between her a moment before standing up again and grabbing his own soap.  Much as he wanted to take it further, it would break a personal rule of his. One-night stands didn’t happen without a barrier even though he got himself snipped a few years ago; one accident already had been disastrous.

She took the bottle from him, sliding it out of his hand and squirting the liquid into her palm, spreading it before smoothing her hands up his chest. Her fingers were gentle, being careful of potential sore spots left over from their ordeal as she lathered his skin. She ran her hands over his ribs and stomach again, fingertips tracing the lines down and cupping him with a few languid strokes.

His eyes fluttered closed a moment as he pressed forward into her hands; the abandoned apartment complex hadn’t really been all that satisfying, if he thought about it.  It had just been a bleed out for excess adrenaline and stress. When they were done, he’d figured he would probably have to take care of it again later in the shower by himself.  Well. He still _was_ _,_ but the shower was pleasantly overcrowded and he wasn’t going to complain a lick about it.  

Gentle fingers explored him, tracing over all the soft edges on his length, nails lightly tracing down his inner thighs before reversing and palming his balls.   _Motherfucker_ …  He couldn’t help rolling himself in her hand with a shiver.

“...need you on my level, big guy,” she smirked, looking up at him coyly.

“You just want me on my knees again,” he snorted, wrenching his eyes open.  Her bottom lip was between her teeth again, eyes bright.

“You caught me.” Her thumb traced just below the underside of his tip, her other hand gently massaging his balls.  If she didn’t stop soon, it was going to be a rather short night.

“Uh- _huh…_ ” he replied, easing himself carefully onto the slick tile. “Still the only girl who’s ever managed to do so, and now you’ve gone and done it _twice_ _._ ”  Her hand trailed over the scar on his collarbone as she circled around behind him, palms spreading over his shoulders and down his back.  He turned around and rinsed off under the shower, having to duck a little before slapping the water off.

“Here.” She reached out of the shower and snagged them both, handing one to him before stepping out of the shower to dry herself.

“Aw, thanks, babycakes.  Heart you, too.” He wrapped the towel around his waist and knotted it, following her out and slipping his other hand onto her waist.

She leaned back slightly into him, glancing up. “Bedroom?”

“I’m still game if you are.”

“Definitely,” she said, sliding her hand over him through the towel.

“Well, alright, then,” he replied, pressing himself into her as they exited the tiny bathroom and locked the door behind them, “Works for me.”

She let the towel drop and brought it up to rub over her hair, wincing slightly. “Burn cream first, though.”  He wordlessly went to his locker and got the tube of salve out. Kate retrieved her spare amp from her locker and stood by her bed, gingerly finger-combing her hair.

“Assume the position,” he joked, holding up the tube.

She rolled her eyes with a grin and picked the amp case up from the bed before turning her back to him and lifting her hair up with her middle finger raised.

“That comes later, last I knew,” he snorted, amused.  He finished sweeping her hair to the side, wet strands clinging to his fingers as he gently parted it around the port.  Pink skin that looked slightly less angry showed through the deep red. “Want me to switch your amp while I’m back here?  Before we forget and you toast my spare.”

“Figured it’d be smart,” she said. “It doesn’t feel as weird as I’d have thought to have it in.”

He snorted again.  “Why would you think it would feel weird?  Amps are amps. They boost. Doesn’t seem like it would feel all that strange between classes.  I would think it would feel strange based on spread concentration, if anything. We both focus on single targets.  Splash damage is for dumbasses who can’t aim.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got a totally different implant. I’m an L3. Not a prototype. They’ll cross over, but it doesn’t quite fit the same. And I can feel an...absence, I suppose. The energy’s not going to my foot the way it normally does. So it’s weird, but not as uncomfortable as I’d expected,” she answered, tipping her head slightly forward so that he could access the port. “Still, I’ll be glad to have my charge back. That feels more naked than the lack of clothing.”

His spare popped free easily and he carefully moved hers in; it seated much more effortlessly than his did back in the apartment.  He ran his thumb over it gently, making sure it was flush and she shivered. Some biotics he knew liked amp play in bed, but it was something he avoided if he could; he didn’t like anybody messing with his head or amp on the best days.  Particularly now. He put a small amount of the cream on his finger, massaging it lightly around the edges. Last thing he wanted to do was cause a flare and get his own to rise. Ta’Leah’s voice soothed him. ‘ _You are in control, Mark.  Keep it in the back of your mind, that image of your hand with sand in your palm and not losing a grain as you close your fist.'_  

He moved her hair to cover it up again and paused a moment, thinking.  The salve could get kind of messy, especially if her hair kept moving around, and even though he didn’t have long hair himself, he could imagine it wouldn’t be too comfortable having it pull and yank on a sore scalp.  He raked his fingers from her temples back, gathering the wet silk of her hair back and separated it into three sections, weaving it together.

“What’re you doing?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow over her shoulder at him.  He palmed the top of her skull and moved her head forward again.

“Braidin’ it.”

“Huh…”

He went back to plaiting it, fingers flying through the last six inches and he tugged gently on the ends to tighten it.

“Mmph.” She shivered, letting her head tip back with the tug.  He glanced down at her face, lower lip between her teeth and eyes bright again.   _Interestin’._   

“Well, hi there,” he gave her a half grin.  “Hair tie?” She held one up for him and he deftly pulled it from her fingers, looping it tightly around the end of the braid before letting it drop.

“Thanks,” she said, running her fingers over it. “Didn’t know you could do that.”

“Lots of things you don’t know about me,” he smirked, nudging her forwards.

She let herself be moved, looking up at him with a grin. “I can see that, big guy.”

“Intergalactic hanar of mystery, right?” he retorted, smirk growing, “Regular Spectre material.”  He grabbed the edge of her towel from over her shoulder, letting her walk out from under it. She groaned, rolling her eyes and turned to face him, sliding her hands over his hips and pulling him with her.

“Ugh. Stop.   _Now_.”

He chuckled and stepped into her space as she unknotted his towel, letting it puddle on the ground around their feet. Yep.  Definitely appreciated the view now that he wasn’t asleep on his feet. Seemed like she was, too. She eyed him openly, slowly dragging her lower lip between her teeth.

“What’s the matter?  Not as into hanar porn as you claimed?”  He slid a warm hand over her shoulder, backing her further towards the bed.

She moved with him, shaking her head with a smirk. “Blasto should _never_ be in the bedroom.”

“Blasphemy,” he murmured, leaning down, “Then I guess you’ll have to rethink the pajamas for Christmas, won’t you?”  Their lips met.

“Mm, darn,” she whispered against his lips, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck. “Boxer briefs, then.”  

“If you must.” He didn’t really care about Blasto-themed whatevers at the moment; there were more pressing matters to be attended to.  They fell back against her bed, her compact, muscular body rolling underneath his, skin warm and soft. She pressed her lips firmly to his, the tip of her tongue flicking against them as her hands roamed over him.

This was quite a bit different than earlier in the night, he surmised as he opened for her kiss, running a hand down her ribs to her thigh, wrapping her legs around him.  Less of an edge of desperation, but still an outlet for pent up energy. He wouldn’t exactly qualify the whole experience as a typical way he picked up a partner for a night, but it worked for what it was.  She moaned softly against his lips, sliding along his hardening length.

“ _Mmph_...condom?” he mumbled, fingers digging into her thigh as they moved.

“Got it,” she muttered, nipping at his lip and reaching over to open the nightstand drawer. She fumbled in it a moment before dropping a foil packet onto the sheets beside them.

“Good thing you do,” he said, laying a chain of kisses along her jaw and pressing the foil packet into her hand.  “Didn’t bring any and wasn’t plannin’ on needing them.”

She tore it open, removing the condom from the packet, and wrapped a hand around him. Her thumb circled his tip before stroking him. The condom slid smoothly onto him as she applied it with a practiced hand.  He shivered, pressing himself forward in her hand again; somehow it never felt as good when he put it on himself as when he had his partner do it.

He lightly nipped her ear and groaned as she guided him to her center and wrapped her legs around him again. Her back arched as she tightened her legs around his waist, sliding him into her with a quiet moan.  “Oh, _fuck_ …” he breathed, shuddering. The residual weight of their excursion faded into the back of his mind as he lost himself in her, her breathy moans as they moved together, the feel of her around him, the cheap cotton sheets tangling around his feet at the bottom of the mattress. Five star hotel the barracks were not, but it didn’t matter.  It wasn’t supposed to be a production they were putting on, it was just burning off adrenaline.

He hitched her up, trying to get a better angle and rolled his hips into hers, sparking a sharp moan from her as he stroked her front wall and she briefly sank her nails into his shoulders. He shifted a little under her hands.

“Sorry,” she whispered, loosening her grip.  Her skin was flushed, lips swollen. Heat of the moment was all; it wasn’t a big deal.  

“S’alright,” he said, letting his voice go low as he withdrew and sat back on his heels, tucking a hand underneath her in the small of her back, fingers curling around her waist.  A sharp tug flipped her over onto her stomach, braid draped over a shoulder. Kate gave a surprised little gasp, looking at him over her shoulder with wide, green eyes. He smoothed his palm down her spine, waiting to see if she’d protest and move to a different position.  After a breathless moment, she arched her back and drew her knees under her, raising her hips for him. _Ausgezeichnet_.[3]  

He wrapped a hand around himself and guided himself into her again, thrusting forward with a groan.  Much better; he could move the way he wanted to and not think again. He dug his fingers into her hips, tipping them up for himself as they moved. Her hands clenched in the sheets, and she moaned as she met his motion.  Yep. Definitely a much better view than their first shower together.  The sinuous curve of her body unfurled before him as they moved, red braid curling around her neck. He ignored it in favor of watching the shadows play out along her spine, shifting with her movement.  Might be worth another sketch if he could hold it in his mind, but admittedly, he was a bit distracted at the moment.

She rotated her hips, grinding back on him and moaned again, body trembling a moment before she slid her forearm under her mouth. _Very interestin’...let’s try that again, shall we?_  He slipped one of his hands down her taut stomach and cupping between her legs. She bit down on her forearm, stifling a loud groan, and pressed herself against his hand.  He alternated between short, shallow strokes and longer ones going deeper, watching her. The braid flipped down her back, coiling on her shoulders; a knot he didn’t know he had eased in his stomach.  He traced circles in the hollow of her hip with his other hand, goosebumps sprinkling up her skin as she shivered.

“How close?” he groaned, angling his hips to stroke along her front wall again.

“ _Ohhh_ …close,” she panted, beginning to writhe beneath him.  He shivered, leaning forward and pressing a kiss between her shoulders.  

“What d’you need?” he whispered, teeth grazing her ear.

She gasped sharply, rolling her hips back to take him deeper. “Ohh, _fuck_ …”

“That’s what we’re doin’, yes,” he chuckled, nibbling along the shell of her ear and circling her nub with his fingers.

Her head tipped back against his shoulder as her hips jerked, and he clapped his hand over her mouth to cover the resultant loud moan. She tightened around him, bringing a hand back to cup his balls against her as her biotics flickered over her skin.

He thrust against her hard, burying himself as deep as he could go and gripped her hips tight to his, feeling her flex around him and immediately damping his own responding biotics.  “ _Fick mich_ ,[4] ohh…” he groaned, breathing heavily. They moved slowly together, catching their breath before tumbling to their sides on the bed.  He loosened his hold on her, fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw to soften the abruptness of covering her mouth. She sighed and leaned into it for a heartbeat before moving off of him.  Thankfully she kept a box of tissues close to her bed. He grabbed a couple and cleaned himself up, wrapping the whole mess in another tissue before tossing it in the trash and perching on the edge of her bed.

She reached out and her fingertips outlined a couple of shapes on his shoulder blades.  “I thought I saw a tattoo in the shower,” she said sleepily. “I like the white. It’s subtle.”

“Thanks...didn’t really see the need to do them dark; it’s enough that I know they’re there.”  He’d gotten a pair of wolf paw prints on his back after Mindoir; they were there if someone looked closely enough since his skin was somewhat pale, but he supposed the heat and other things flushed his skin and made them more visible.

She ran her fingertip around the edges again and he shivered, content to stay put for the moment; he usually didn’t linger for long after bedroom activities concluded. “I get that. Might not seem like it since mine are all so bold, but I do.”  If he remembered their placement correctly, they were roughly as big as her hands flattened on his shoulder blades. _Perfect size, little girl._  Her left arm dropped on his thigh, relaxed and he glanced at it, getting a closer look than she probably meant to give him.  There was a silvery, thin slash running up the underside of her wrist, close enough to mean business but curved out enough to have missed anything vital.  He’d thought wrong.

“I’m assumin’ you didn’t get some of yours for aesthetics.”  The dotted lines on her wrists made him uncomfortable to begin with, but now that he saw the scar he figured it was more than just black humor.  People’s skin and ink told stories, no matter what they claimed otherwise. It was just a matter of being able to peel back the layers and read between the lines. He kept his hidden as much as possible; he didn’t want anybody knowing anything about him or his past.  Let them believe he was just a dumb hick from a backwater planet; they didn’t need to know anything else and he didn’t need their pity.

“None of them are for aesthetics,” she said quietly.

He turned to look at her, tracing the bleeding color of the phoenix over her shoulder.  “Even if you didn’t get that one for looks, I still think it’s pretty. It suits you well.”

Goosebumps rose under his fingers. “I hope so,” she said.  He ran his thumb over the edge of her shoulder blade again, heel of his palm digging into her muscle slightly; it was tensing up as they spoke. _Noted.  Story she don’t want to tell._  He let it go.

He cupped her ribs, continuing to explore as his fingers tracing flames that licked up, swallowing another design he couldn’t quite make out.  Clearly it was a cover-up; the artist had done a fairly good job in burying the original design in the supple lines of the flames, the colors bright and varied.  The organic curves helped move the eye around the design; it was a decent tactic, he supposed, but the issue with straight lines was they were a bitch to hide. Geometric shapes never hid well in nature and nature never was perfectly linear; straight edges were too difficult to obscure completely unless it was blocked out with a solid color.

She shivered, her skin twitching slightly at his fingers over her ribs. “It’s getting late,” she said softly.

“So it is,” he replied, letting his hand drop and sliding off the bed as he went to his locker to grab a fresh pair of pajama pants.  He tossed his hoodie on her bed next to her.

“Thanks, mShep.  G’night…” she yawned, shrugging into it.   

“Seems weird to say ‘you’re welcome,” he replied, amused.  “But good night anyway.” He slipped into his own bed, rolling onto his stomach with the pillow lumped under his chest and bringing his knee up with a deep sigh.  All things considered, the night ended pretty decently. Only the morning would tell if it was going to bite them in the ass.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, for those that are curious and want spoilers or just want to know more about what could possibly be up with Mark and his weird biotics, I encourage you to read [_The Hunted_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12108594/chapters/27454971) and [_Welcome to the Suck_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12473596/chapters/28390272). They explain the 'what'. ~potions
> 
>  _Glossary_ : 
> 
> [1] Mach es fertig. Ja, Vati - German. Get it done. Yes, Dad.  
> [2] Heilige verdammte Scheisse - German. Holy fucking shit ('holy damn shit' literal)  
> [3] Ausgezeichnet - German. Excellent  
> [4] Fick mich - German. Fuck me


	12. Misjudgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Friends ask you questions; enemies question you.”_ ~ Criss Jami

**_Unbreakable_** , by Kate_Shepard and potionsmaster

 

Rating: E for sex, drugs, rock n’ roll, and country.  Otherwise known as ‘Violence out the wazoo’ and actual country.  (Country needs a warning label.)  Heed the warnings and tags, kiddies.  It ain’t pretty.

 

 **Chapter** 12: _Misjudgement_

 

~*~*~*~

 

Red opened her omni-tool when it pinged, her eyebrows raising at the message on the screen.

<Chat Request>

<From: kyalenko@alliance.xnet>

<To: krshepherd@alliance.xnet>

KA: <Hey, Kate. Haven’t heard from you. How was Hell Week? Make it through in one piece?>

She hadn’t heard from Kaidan in a couple weeks; had, in fact, all but forgotten him during the grueling training. She glanced up at Mark across the room with a datapad in hand and shrugged. They’d fucked, sure, and it had been damn good, but they’d both been clear it had been just a one-off not to be repeated.

She was okay with that. Friends weren’t something she was accustomed to having. Abby and Thane were closer to what she imagined family to be than true friends. Abby was the little sister she’d always wanted while Thane was the dad she’d never had. While other people growing up had had ‘best friends,’ she’d had Alex. They’d never tried to put any kind of formal title on whatever they’d been. ‘Friends’ had seemed too casual while ‘boyfriend’ had seemed too deep even if they’d gotten drunk and fooled around a time or two. In the end, he’d died trying to protect what she loved the most and it hadn’t mattered. She hadn’t sought out friendship of any kind since.

And then she got stuck with mShep. ‘Friend’ was good enough. ‘Best’ by virtue of being the only. Though Kaidan still seemed to be trying to establish himself as something, too. She hadn’t really expected to hear from him again, but she found herself glad she did. It was kind of nice to know that someone out there cared enough to check up. _Normal_.

KS: <Hey. Yeah. I’m intact. Hell Week was…fun.>

KA: <*Fun?* I think you’re the first person I’ve ever heard to use that particular word to describe it. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head during portage?>

KS: <Nah, that was Mark. He’s okay, though. Made it through. So did aquaphobic guy and Alphabet. And yeah, it was fun. We rode on boats and went swimming and played on a playground and had a bonfire and built sand castles. Just like summer camp, right?>

KS: <attachment:sand_castles.holo>   

KA: <Ha! Yeah. Exactly like I remember summer camp. All you’re missing is the horses and the marshmallows. Looks like you and your buddy are getting along. I don’t miss getting wet and sandy.>

KS: <Yeah. We found a rhythm. Plus, he got me a pack of smokes after, so I think that means we bonded and shit.>

KA: <The ultimate sign. Glad things are going well.>

KS: <How’s teaching?>

KA: <I took your advice about the powwows after class. Started doing once a week. Ended up expanding it to twice. All of the sentinels and several of the adepts show up. I think I’m going to make it a regular thing now.>

KS: <Told you. You aren’t boring.>

KA: <High praise. I’m still waiting on my schedule, but if I’m calculating it up right, there might be a chance for me to come down in a few months. If you still want me to, of course.>

KS: <Absolutely. Of course, you’re assuming I’ll still be here.>

KA: <Anybody who survives Hell Week and calls it fun is a sure thing. Just don’t get hurt and you’ll be fine. So. How was it *really*?>

KS: <Hard. Exhausting. We lost some people during night portage. Two from my crew. A couple others got hurt. Kirkland is...he’s a piece of work.>

KA: <What the hell happened out there?>

KS: <Long story short, they had us put in with a storm approaching and the surf was too high. A couple people got swept out trying to get the boat in and then we capsized on the rocks. Another team lost a few, too, but I don’t remember how many. And then Kirkland thought he’d play a little game to fuck with me.>

KA: <Holy shit. Why didn’t they wave you off? What kind of ‘game’ would someone play after something like that?>

KS: <No idea why they didn’t. I assume that’ll be part of the review. For the game, he buried an oar in one of three ‘graves’ in the sand and said they were our 'crewmates’.>

KA: <That sadistic bastard. You okay?>

KS: <I’m fine. I knew he was lying, but hell. Have some respect for the dead.>

KA: <He has no business being an instructor. I hope they nail him to the wall.>

KS: <Me, too. Speaking of which, I’m supposed to be meeting Moreno in five. Gotta go. It was good talking to you. Keep in touch.>

KA: <You, too. Missed you. Good luck.>

KS: <Missed you, too, K.>

Red closed the ‘tool and looked up at her battle buddy. “You ready?”

“Let’s do this shiz,” he said, tossing the datapad aside and reaching for his boots.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“What I want to know is why the decision to use the secondary LZ wasn’t made until _after_ five of our troops died and more were injured, Major.”

“We’ve done an investigation, sir. Commander Torres ultimately made the call to continue forward with the primary landing zone. She believed that the recruits would be able to handle the swells. She reports that they were unaware of the rip current until after the incident.”

Red glanced over at Mark where they were standing in the hallway awaiting their names being called. She caught his eye, mouthing, ‘Bullshit.’

‘For real,’ he mouthed back, cocking his head to the side and leaning a bit more to try and hear.

“Should have known it was Torres,” she whispered, edging closer to him. “I just assumed Kirkland.”

“Yeah, same,” he replied quietly.  “Maybe they rotate on calls, or she’s the one with the most water experience.”

“Moreno said he told them to call it off. She knew damn well that the LZ was untenable.”

“I mean...I knew she had it out for me, but not _that_ bad…” he snorted.  “She’ll have to try harder next time.”  They both leaned in again.

Moreno’s smooth voice filtered through the door. “Sirs, Master Chief, in addition to the night portage incident, I called this review regarding behavior displayed by Commander Kirkland that is inconsistent with the values and professional comportment of not only an N7 but especially an instructor. I have attempted to counsel Commander Kirkland on numerous occasions, believing his behavior to be linked to the death of one of his platoon. However, the problem has escalated to a point where I believe that it needs to be sent up the chain of command. In particular, Commander Kirkland has targeted one of the cadets in a manner that is far beyond the bounds of simply pushing a student and has devolved into something closer to psychological torture.”

 _I wouldn’t go_ that _far_ , Red thought. Moreno seemed to be more affected by Kirkland’s behavior than she was. She wouldn’t undermine him by denying it, though. Her life would certainly be easier if the asshole was out of her way. The thing with the ‘graves’ had pissed her off, though not for the reason she implied to Kaidan or her team. She detested being manipulated, and he hadn’t even had the decency to be subtle in his attempt. _If you’re going to piss on my leg, at least show me the courtesy of calling it rain._

Moreno continued, detailing what he’d seen from Kirkland. To her surprise, he’d somehow found out about the haircut. She and Mark were the only ones who knew about that on her end, which meant Kirkland had likely been bragging about it. It didn’t seem like much when relayed clinically, but Moreno weaved it in with the rest of Kirkland’s transgressions in such a way that its significance was evident.   

“Lieutenants Shepherd and Shepard, please come in.” The instructor appeared in the doorway, looking at them with his face drawn.

They joined him in the room where a table was set up similarly to her review board. Rather than sitting at it, however, the instructors stood against the wall. Kirkland’s brows were drawn into a sharp line and the muscles in his arms strained against the sleeves of his uniform. The air all but vibrated around him.

The table was occupied by the commandant, Major Thomas; the battalion NCO, Master Chief Ridley; and an admiral she hadn’t seen before. Beside her, Mark’s step faltered for an instant. Had she not been so accustomed to his stride, she’d have missed it.

The admiral looked at him. “Lieutenant.”

“Admiral Kahoku,” he said steadily, stopping at attention.

“How’s your head?” the admiral asked gravely.

“Fully recovered, sir,” he said.

“That’s good to hear. We wouldn’t want any injuries delaying your training.”

Red glanced between the two for a moment, keeping her expression neutral as the hair on the back of her neck rose. The cadence of the admiral’s speech was off, implying a meaning below the benign words, and Mark’s tone was _too_ even. She’d have bet her next paycheck that the man knew about whatever was wrong with her battle’s biotics. Was that why he was here? Had Mark sent in a report after their talk? If so, she was a dead woman walking.

Moreno stepped up, approaching the table. “Lieutenant Shepherd, please relay for the board your run-ins with Drill Instructor Kirkland.”

The admiral settled into his seat, clasping his hands on the table in front of him, looking at her with what appeared to be no more than professional interest. The knot in her stomach eased slightly. Unless they were going to attempt to frame her disappearance or accident on Kirkland, his presence was likely unrelated to her.

She moved into parade rest and addressed all of them, briefly touching on the incidents Moreno had already covered before adding the ones he hadn’t seen. When she was finished, Moreno had Mark go over them from his perspective. Repetitive, like everything else that involved red tape in the military. She let his words wash over her, instead surreptitiously observing the admiral. Where Kahoku had merely looked at her, he  _examined_ Mark, noting every expression and change of tone. If Mark noticed, he didn’t react.

Finally, they asked Kirkland to come forward. The instructor narrowed his eyes at her and said, “I’ve never hidden that I believe Lieutenant Shepherd’s mismanagement led to Lieutenant Rheinscheld’s suicide. I also believe that she is responsible for the deaths of Lieutenants Hayworth and Smith.”

“Excuse me?” Moreno interjected. “Smith and Hayworth were on _us_ and nobody else. You cannot possibly blame a cadet for—”

“You had your opportunity to speak, Moreno,” Kirkland snapped. “Shepherd was team lead. She was in the water. She should have used her judgment from a better vantage point and made the call not to endanger her crew simply for the sake of following orders. It was her responsibility as the captain of that boat to make the ultimate decision whether to proceed forward or belay an order for the safety of the team.”

 _He has a point_ , she conceded with dismay. The final call _had_ been hers.

“What do you have to say to this, Lieutenant?” the major asked.

Red squared her shoulders, looking him in the eye as she swiftly sorted her thoughts. How the hell had a review of an instructor in which she was supposed to be the victim gotten turned around onto her? Kirkland was more devious than she’d given him credit for.

“That night, I went into the water with two objectives. The primary one was to successfully complete N-training. The secondary one was to take our boats to a predetermined location in the dark and remove it from the water. Had I refused the order, I believed that Instructor Kirkland would have used it to remove me from training, thus causing me to fail my primary objective.”

“So you bought your continued presence with two innocent lives?” Kirkland sneered.

Red froze. _Innocent_ _lives. You killed innocent people. Again._   A discreet nudge against her heel from Mark brought her attention back into focus. She swallowed hard, regaining her composure, and said, “I had no way to anticipate that choosing to follow that order would cost the lives of my teammates. I trusted the instructors’ judgment as they were on shore with lights that gave them a better view of the water and believed that if they felt that the situation was life-threatening, they would reroute us to the secondary landing zone.”

“Like I said,” Moreno said, “the fault was on _us_.”

The admiral nodded. “If that’s all, you’re dismissed, Lieutenants.”

“Wait,” Kirkland said, a wicked glint in his eye. “I have reason to believe that Lieutenant Shepherd has been purchasing and using illegal substances.”

 _WHAT?!_ Red resisted the urge to look to Mark. _No. No way in hell. He wouldn’t do that._ But what if he had? Pieces were falling into place in a pattern that made her blood run cold. The admiral who knew his secret. A link to hers that she’d just revealed to him. The tone of the review. She hadn’t believed the Reds would betray her, either, until it was too late. Had she misjudged him that thoroughly? Had she let affection and the illusion of belonging blind her again? She knew he lacked empathy. She knew he could lie and manipulate with the best of them. Had he played her, too? She didn’t want to believe it, but her past had taught her that her judgment couldn’t be trusted.

“Elaborate,” Kahoku said.

Kirkland drew himself up to his full height. “Two weeks ago, I observed the lieutenants leaving a condemned warehouse in the black market district. When they came out, they appeared to be intoxicated. I’ve made some inquiries and learned that the building is known for being a place where anything can be found for the right price. At several points during Hell Week, the lieutenant’s nostrils appeared to be red and she reported hallucinating.

“At the time, I attributed it to the salt water, but during the incident, she managed to hold Lieutenant Shepard against a riptide alone using only her biotics. Additionally, throughout the rest of training, she managed to stay awake when the rest of her team were falling asleep mid-evolution. After getting word back on the nature of the building I saw them leave, I believe her accomplishments are due to red sand rather than simple willpower.”

Red rubbed the knots of scar tissue between her fingers and shifted her weight, trying to swallow past the sudden dryness in her mouth. A part of her _wished_ she’d had some red sand to get through Hell Week, but the memory of Mark tracing her phoenix came back to her. _‘It suits you,’_ he’d said. Gods, she hoped so. It was a reminder of where she’d been and what she’d overcome, one she’d gotten upon getting out of rehab after the Blitz. She wasn’t going back to that, no matter how much she might want it.

Moreno gaped at Kirkland. “You’re accusing the Hero of the Blitz of being a _drug addict?_ This is ridiculous. I was there when she held the lieutenant. It was extraordinary, but we’re talking about a woman who single-handedly defended a colony of civilians against thousands of batarians. ‘Extraordinary’ acts are what she’s based her career on. As for not sleeping, I noted that as well. The other thing I noticed was that when she was awake, her battle buddy, who was suffering from a concussion, was sleeping. She sacrificed her own rest for her buddy who needed it more, not because she was on drugs, but because it was what she had to do. Kirkland is attempting to redirect the focus of this review onto her in order to draw attention from his own actions.”

“Well, Lieutenant?” the commandant asked. “Do you deny these allegations?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“So, why were you there?” the master chief asked.

How to figure out how to explain her presence at the fight club without giving away what it was? She’d like to go back again, but she owed them no loyalty. If it would keep her from a drug charge she hadn’t earned, the answer was a no-brainer. That didn’t mean she had to tell them _everything_. “I was there to observe a non-sanctioned wrestling match. Lieutenant Shepard was unaware of where I planned to go and accompanied me only to stay within the regulations.”

“Is this true?” Kahoku asked Mark.

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Alright, then. Dismissed, Instructors and Lieutenants.”

Red followed Moreno and Kirkland into the hallway. Kirkland glowered at her before going to the end of the hall where Torres waited. When she and Mark would have left, Moreno stopped them. “Wait. I think you deserve to hear the outcome.”

She nodded and stood against the wall with Mark beside her, her head spinning. He hadn’t turned on her. Relief washed over her in a heady tide. She hadn’t trusted anyone but Thane since that horrible day back in Chicago, hadn’t thought she’d ever find anyone else she _could_ trust. But Mark had her six, and not just on the field.

They couldn’t hear the review board’s murmured deliberations through the door. Moreno paced the hallway, his brow furrowed. Why _was_ he so staunchly against Kirkland? He didn’t owe her anything. They didn’t have a relationship beyond instructor and student. He had no reason to be so solidly in her corner. What else had Kirkland done? She doubted that Moreno would fill her in even if she asked. She’d probably never get an answer to that, but at least it benefited her.

After what felt like ages, the master chief came to the door and gestured them in. All of them. Red hadn’t expected to be included in the verdict. She’d figured Moreno would either let them listen in or fill them in after. She and Mark went to the back of the room, but the major gestured them forward. She moved up, feeling as if her boots had filled with lead.

Kahoku spoke. “Commander Kirkland, the personal vendetta against Lieutenant Shepherd must stop; however, we do not see sufficient evidence to justify anything more than a reprimand at this time.”

 _That’s it? A slap on the wrist?_ On her other side, Moreno gritted his teeth together. Clearly the outcome he’d been afraid of, not the one he’d hoped for.

Kahoku turned to her. “Lieutenant Shepherd, given the three deaths that have occurred under your command, we feel that disciplinary action is in order. In light of your service during the Blitz, we have elected not to remove you from training. However, you will no longer serve as team lead, and before you are placed into another leadership role, you must undergo additional leadership training. In addition, you will write letters to the families of your deceased squadmates, issuing your sincere apologies for your role in their deaths.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” she ground out. Lightning seared under her skin, threatening to flash over her in a furious corona. She took a series of deep, steadying breaths, calling upon the meditative techniques Kaidan had taught her. It wasn’t enough. She hadn’t felt rage like this since Tenth Street. How in the _hell_ had that motherfucker managed to turn this around onto her? She’d underestimated her enemy and been outmaneuvered. Again. It would be the last time.

The air around her crackled, raising the hair on her arms. Wordlessly, Mark shifted just enough to touch his elbow into hers, flinching slightly at the zap that arced between them as he allowed the energy to use him as an outlet. The air stilled, though her blood continued to boil. She needed to fucking shoot something. It didn’t matter that tomorrow was a training day. She was taking her ass down to the fight club. Let them say what they wanted about it. If she didn’t, she’d rip Kirkland to shreds.

They left HQ, pausing long enough for Moreno to glare back at the building and say, “He won’t win everything. MShep, you’re the new team lead. I’m not letting him put Leng in charge just to spite you, femShep. I’m sorry. I...if I’d even suspected that would happen, I’d have just chewed his ass myself.”

 _Instead, you just brought me into the middle of whatever vendetta you have against him and fucked me over in the process._ “Thank you for trying, Instructor,” she said aloud.

She maintained contact with Mark, letting him drain the energy that stormed through her until they were out of sight. She pivoted, slamming her fist into the wall of the nearest building. Dark energy flared around her, dying quickly once it had been let out. The pain zinged up her arm, welcome but not enough to satisfy her. “That. Mother. _Fucker_ ,” she snarled.

“Bureaucracy at its best,” Mark grumbled, rubbing his elbow.  “Want to stop by the pit?”

“Yeah,” she grunted. “Thanks, by the way. How the _fuck_ did that just happen?”

“Welcome,” he replied, leading them to their customary spots and laying down with a small groan, tossing a pack on the other bench between them.  “He obviously is good at spinnin’ shit to other people.”

“That’s no lie,” she muttered, retrieving a cigarette and lighting it, her eyes locked onto the dancing flame. It was all too easy to imagine it reaching out and swallowing Kirkland up. Rather than giving her satisfaction, though, the image made her sick. She let the lighter go out and tossed it to Mark. “He’s smarter than I gave him credit for. I don’t give a shit about not being team lead. Take it. It just pisses me the fuck off that he _won_.”

Writing letters to the families. What the hell was she supposed to say? _Mr. Rheinscheld, I’m sorry that your ex-wife was a whiny little bitch who wasn’t supposed to be here. Mrs. Hayworth, I’m sorry your son wrapped a fucking guideline around his goddamn wrist in rough seas and got dragged out._ Probably not the letters they were looking for. Smith hadn’t done anything wrong, but the other two weren’t entirely blameless in their own demise. Still, if she hadn’t been so focused on beating Kirkland, Hayworth and Smith could still be alive. That much, at least, _was_ on her.

“All in due time, little girl,” he said, lit cigarette in his hand resting on his stomach, back against the rough cement of the bench.  “We gotta be smarter ‘n him. We’re in it for the long haul. He might’ve won this round, but the war ain’t over. Patience.”

 _We_. Such a simple word, but one that had lost its meaning to her years ago. She leaned back against the low wall and took a long drag of her cigarette. She wasn’t fighting alone this time. She had allies. Alphabet and Sheffield would be in it with her, too, when they found out. She might not be able to take Kirkland down on her own without landing herself in prison or in front of a firing squad, but between the four of them, they could figure _something_ out. _We_. It was a good word.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Red crouched down behind a building with her shotgun drawn. Ahead of her, Mark signaled Alphabet and Sheffield into position. Inside the buildings, instructors waited in what was almost certainly an ambush. Their objective was to infiltrate the mockup neighborhood and locate and retrieve a datapad with intel on it without being captured or ‘killed.’ They’d been broken down into four-man teams for small-team urban combat training. She spared a moment to wonder how the Pastore twins and Shetty were faring under Leng’s guidance in the neighboring simulation.

Moreno had called it with Kirkland’s attempt to put Leng in charge of the team. He’d gotten a visible thrill of satisfaction when he’d informed the other instructor that he’d already made mShep team lead after Kirkland had tried. It wasn’t enough to soothe the burning anger under her surface. Even the quick, hard fuck Mark had given her back in their room after the review hadn’t helped for more than a day or two. Petty satisfactions weren’t good enough anymore. As Mark had said, it wasn’t about the battles now. It was about winning the war. Attrition wouldn’t cut it with someone like Kirkland. They were going to have to take him down hard. Unfortunately, the past week since the review had proven that it was going to take time. That was fine. She could wait.

The four of them had been plotting, or attempting to, but they’d had little to go on. Cat had offered to get whatever dirt she could on Kirkland after word spread through their team about the result of the review. Thus far, she’d managed to find out that Kirkland and Master Chief Ridley were old war buddies, which explained why he was so untouchable, and that he had a reputation for breaking the rules and getting away with it. Probably the reason behind Moreno’s vendetta. She just wished he hadn’t made his move so soon.

At Mark’s signal, she moved forward and joined Alphabet in an alcove outside the door to the building they’d been sheltering behind. Mark knelt beside the door and leaned in just far enough to hack the lock. The door slid open and they smoothly exchanged places, Red and Alphabet locking onto the two instructors/enemy combatants waiting inside and charging into them. They were equipped with heavy armor along with shields and barriers, so the damage done was minimal, but they went flying back, out of the game. Mark moved in with Sheffield behind him. Together, the four of them made their way through the fake residence, clearing each room. Sheffield took up a position in a bedroom on the second floor that allowed him a clear view of the street and drew his sniper rifle.

Mark, as it turned out, was a better leader than she was. He drew people to him and had no problem convincing them to follow him. Where she’d struggled to build their team, he commanded loyalty from the start. She didn’t completely discount her contribution to it. She’d given him a damn good one to step up to, Leng aside. But he made it seem effortless. She was taking notes, not that she was likely to need them.

As much as she might chafe at the idea of being trapped under someone else’s command and lacking autonomy, the simple truth of it was that she was a bad leader. She’d failed at it with the Reds and people had died. She’d failed here and people had died. Necessary deaths, even unnecessary but justifiable deaths, didn’t faze her. Being responsible for unnecessary ones because she hadn’t considered all of the options and hadn’t done her job right rankled. There were plenty of things she was good at. Leading people wasn’t one of them.

They found the datapad in an office complex at the end of the street. Their weapons were loaded with concussive rounds that triggered sensors on their armor when someone took a hit. There were enough targets guarding the building that she assumed they’d not only tapped the instructors, but probably higher classes as well. Alphabet took a shot to the arm that rendered all but his charge useless and his assault rifle impractical, but he didn’t let that slow him down. He exchanged the rifle for his shotgun and continued one-handed, taking out both Vasquez and Moreno in quick succession.

They reached the final room of the building to find what by their silhouettes could only be Kirkland and Torres waiting for them along with an unidentified third behind a frosted glass wall. Sheffield had been following their progression down the street and rejoined them at the office. Mark motioned them together and they crouched down in the office across the hall to confer.

“Alphabet, you’ll take point. I want you on Kirkland. Sheffield, that third guy in there keeps pacing by the window. I’m going to see if I can get to him from the outside. When the glass breaks, you hit Torres. Keep an eye open for reinforcements. Don’t let us get flanked in there. FemShep, you’re on my six. Get that datapad and get the hell out.”

“Roger,” she said.

They moved across the hall and waited for the pacer to make it back to their side of the room. When he came in range, Red shot the window. Mark shoved his hand through the falling glass, grabbing his target, and punched him in the side. His omni-tool registered as a blade, taking out the opponent.

A shot rang out from Sheffield’s pistol. Torres’ helmet lit, rendering it useless. 'Damaged Equipment'.

Jake charged into the room in a streak of blue, slamming into Kirkland. The instructor threw him back, sending him onto a shard of glass. It crumbled under his weight but registered as an impalement all the same.

Red and Mark leapt into the room, firing on the instructors. Torres fabricated something and threw it at them. Before Red could call out a warning, Mark was wreathed in blue. He caught the grenade in a biotic field and tossed it back behind the desk where she and Kirkland were sheltering. It exploded in a flash of white. In the confusion, Mark fired his pistol, lighting Torres’ useless helmet up with a kill.

That left Kirkland and the datapad lying in the floor within their reach. Red’s eyes darted between them, itching to take Kirkland down. With a curse, she bent down and snatched up the pad. “Got it!”

“Go, go, go!” Mark ordered, laying down covering fire with Sheffield as she darted from the room. The three of them ran down the empty halls and out into the street with their prize.

Alphabet joined them when the lights flashed to signify the end of the evolution, rubbing a hand over his shoulder. “They may not be bullets, but those concussive rounds hurt like a bitch,” he griped.

“That’ll teach you to be the white knight,” Sheffield chuckled.  “I was under cover; you didn’t have to take the hit for me.”

“Yeah, but your pretty face was exposed,” Alphabet shot back with a grin. “Wouldn’t want you to get hit and end up looking like Shepard here.”

“ _Dick_ ,” Mark shoved Alphabet on his sore shoulder with a laugh. “Lock it down until barracks, assholes, huh?  Can _smell_ y’all from here.”

“Uh huh. You’re just jealous,” Alphabet replied. “You could have taken Kirkland, femShep. I was kind of disappointed you didn’t,” he said, turning to her.

“Yeah, but it’ll fuck with his head more that I left him ‘alive’ than it would if I’d ‘killed’ him,” she said with a shrug. “Wars, not battles.”

“That’s right, little girl.” Mark had pulled his helmet off and gently bumped the HUD to hers.  “Patience is a virtue in this case.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
